Fundamental Compatibility
by HarmoniousConvergence
Summary: Harry and Hermione react as canon shifts about them. An homage of sorts to H/Hr tropes, beginning after Ron leaves them in DH. Traces H/Hr through the years to the DH epilogue as they struggle to understand the nature of forces that keep them apart and will ultimately bring them together. No bashing, though incorporating angst, mystery, drama, humor, and occasional absurdity.
1. Prologue: Surprises - 1997

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** This story will take an unusual tack in DH-epilogue compliance (mostly) for an H/Hr story. Aside from the prologue, the remaining chapters will show the characters reacting to sudden changes in canon that occurred in the real world, tracing the path of H/Hr from 1997 to 2017. The release of books and movies, interviews with JKR and actors, etc. suddenly shifted elements of the Potterverse over time, and now we get to witness poor Harry and Hermione attempt to deal with such ramifications in real time, as it were.

The overall tone is a knowing reflection on H/Hr tropes, though definitely angsty for quite a while. There will also be significant mystery to puzzle out. Be forewarned. Chapters may make homages to various fic genres. No smut. (Sorry.) But definitely suggestiveness, some adult situations, and occasional adult language. Pervasive allusions, periodic fluff, and a good helping of (occasionally OOC) silliness in some chapters. Very little bashing, though. Ron and Ginny are good people whom H/Hr truly do love. Maybe something original will happen here, but this will ultimately be Harmony in the end, through and through.

Twelve chapters of grossly varying lengths, including prologue and epilogue. The final chapter of this fic will be released, with an appropriate "harmonious" addendum to the DH epilogue, on Epilogue Day, September 1, 2017.

 **AUTHOR'S WARNING:** After several chapters have been published, there have now been a few reader reactions that are upset about H/G and R/Hr being in this story. **Please read the note above. This story is DH-EPILOGUE COMPLIANT _._** (Well, sort of; I can't explain that more.) That means the H/Hr path is not going to be easy or straightforward, though it will (and must) happen.

Those who don't want to read an angst-filled fic that unfolds over decades and will have to get messy at some point should consider themselves warned. You might like the prologue, but it's going to be tough for a while after that.

* * *

 **Fundamental Compatibility**

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

– _A Midsummer Night's Dream_

 **Prologue: Surprises**

The Wilderness, sometime before Christmas 1997

 _She had cried herself to sleep last night. Again._

Harry didn't know how much longer he could take it, abandoned by one best friend and forced to view the other grieving day and night. As he walked through the brisk morning air, he could feel the weight upon his chest even without the locket. _We're out of supplies. We need some proper food._ His hunger temporarily drew his thoughts away from their situation, away from _her_.

A branch broke under his foot and startled him. He stopped for a second and watched his breath fog out in front of his mouth. _Merlin's beard, it was cold._

He had held her last night through her sobs, for the first time comforting her private grief in the days since Ron left. He knew she had been trying to hide it from him, to be strong for him, but he couldn't stand by anymore. They had perhaps both found a little solace in that closeness.

Harry was at first proud that she had chosen to stay with him, but they needed to move past this phase, to move on. _To what?_ An unbidden thought threatened to break through and was rapidly suppressed. He didn't know. But he was constantly aware of the woods around them, silently watching them. _Someone_ , he thought _, was surely out there_. He never found any evidence. _We need to move on_.

The small Muggle village arose in front of him as he crested the hill. A part of him knew it was risky to come out from his cloak, but they were nearly starving now. His desperation drove him forward. With his wand, Harry transfigured a few galleons into Muggle money before descending to the local pub. The sky was gray and foreboding, but he guessed it must be nearly noon.

"What can I get fer ya?" the barman asked with a small smile, though Harry could sense a bit of wariness. _They must not see many strangers here_. Two men sat by themselves farther down the bar, each nursing a dark beer.

"Ploughman's lunch. And some chips." He felt ravenous and didn't think he'd do well on the hike back without eating something first.

"Be out in a minute." The barkeep disappeared, and Harry could hear shouting coming from the kitchen. He was a bit surprised when he made out what sounded like an American accent.

As he glanced toward the kitchen door, Harry also eyed the man closest to him. Dressed in a long leather coat, he had a slight bulge on his back near the waistline. Harry didn't want to think what that might be or what type of characters patronized this pub in the middle of the day.

The food arrived swiftly: first the cold lunch, and an enormous basket of chips two minutes later. Harry gobbled everything down greedily, enjoying the warm chips even though they were a bit too greasy for his liking. After the bitter cold on his walk, he was finally starting to feel alive again.

"Out here alone?" the man asked from a few seats down.

"Uh, no," Harry replied uncomfortably. "I'm, uh, camping with a friend." _What was the chance that a wizard would be in a Muggle pub like this, in the middle of nowhere? Probably near zero._ Harry relaxed slightly. "She... wasn't awake yet, so I came here for a bit of lunch."

"Oh, I see..." The man's eyes brightened.

"No," Harry clarified, "it's not like _that_. We're just friends... very good friends." _But to be honest, that wasn't really true anymore, was it?_ His mind raced. Holding her last night, he couldn't stop looking at her. His eyes had fallen to her lips too many times as he brushed away her tears. Why couldn't he stop? _She was Ron's_. Even though Harry had pulled away from Ginny recently for the War, they hadn't officially ended it for good. Obviously he cared deeply for her, but he didn't know what to think of that now. Hermione, though? She was with Ron. That much was clear to him. And he could never do anything to hurt Ron so much, even after he had abandoned them.

The man sidled down the bar, dragging his beer with him. He sat next to Harry. "I can see there's something else in your eyes, though. It's okay to admit it."

Harry couldn't believe he was confiding to a random Muggle at a bar. "I just... she's..." Finally, he just blurted out, "Well, she's _everything_ to me. She's my best friend, and right now..." _She stayed with me. With me._

"The desserts are really good here. Homemade."

"What?" Harry was startled from his thoughts. He stared at the man in utter confusion.

The man chuckled. "I'm only saying – If she's as hungry as you clearly are, don't forget to bring her something lovely as a treat. She'll thank you for it. Believe me." He gave Harry a nod, though something seemed off. The man reminded him of someone, and he had a bearing that didn't fit his appearance. More mannered, more regal.

"Erm, thanks," Harry muttered. The barman appeared and cleared his plates. "What do you have in the way of desserts that I could take with me?" A list was recited for him, and Harry decided he'd just take an entire pie. They could use a treat. The barman frowned at Harry's request, but said nothing.

After a few minutes he returned and placed the pie beside the register. "Don't get much call for this sort o' thing 'round here. Don't know why Chad there in the kitchen keeps making 'em, somethin' about his dear mother's recipe. Just give me a moment, and I'll wrap it up fer ya." He turned to go into the back again.

At that moment, a soft jingle magnified into a loud clang as a metal object hit the floor beside Harry. He dropped to one knee to retrieve a pair of handcuffs, briefly staring at them in wonder before rising and handing them back to his lunch companion. The man nodded in awkward gratitude. _That was it_ , thought Harry. _The bulge, the handcuffs, the slightly strange demeanor. He must be a law enforcement officer under cover_. It seemed unusual for him to be carrying a gun, though. Perhaps he was part of some special unit. Harry didn't really know much about the organization of Muggle law enforcement agencies, aside from what he had gleaned from a few stolen moments of old movies Uncle Vernon used to watch.

"All set," the barman announced. Harry settled the bill for his lunch and took the dessert with him. Before leaving, he asked the barman for a shop that might carry a larger stock of supplies and was directed down the street. As he headed to the door of the pub, he turned once more to his lunch companion and nodded, holding up the pie in gratitude. The man smiled wanly, and Harry detected the slight trace of a sneer, but immediately dismissed it as he entered the frigid air once more.

* * *

"Don't ever do that again, Harry Potter!" Hermione smacked him on the head with a small book, accentuating every word. "I had no idea where you were! You could've been killed."

"I left a note."

"'OUT TO LUNCH'?!" she roared. "Yes, Harry, that's a perfect description of what's transpired here."

"I'm sorry."

"I just... I just..." _I just thought I was all_ _alone_ , she thought.

He could see the water pooling in her eyes. _Oh, please no_ , Harry thought mournfully. He had not wanted to upset her. _Anything but that_. "Hermione. I'm really, truly sorry. I... well, we haven't eaten properly in a few days. You haven't been sleeping, and when you finally were, I just couldn't stand to disturb you. Look, I've brought back loads of food to keep us supplied for weeks."

Hermione finally calmed down enough to look over the items Harry had started to remove from her magical bag before she had attacked him. Hunger got the best of her too, and she began nibbling on some fruit as she tore open a large package of wrapped cheese. Harry couldn't help noticing the tiny bit of juice on her mouth as she chewed, before her tongue emerged to lightly lick her lips. _Delightfully licking them_ , Harry thought. _Stop it! Thank god I didn't bring back bananas. Oh Merlin._

She had stopped chewing. "What?"

Harry was driven from his thoughts. "Umm, er, what?" he echoed.

"You had this funny look on your face." _He was staring at me. At my mouth. Was he disgusted by my eating habits?_

"Sorry. I just was thinking..." _About last night. About you in my arms._ "We need to move on. It's not safe here."

Tears welled up in her eyes again. He knew this would happen. Moving on again meant that there was even less of a chance that Ron would ever be able to find them. He walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered a bit at the contact as her breath caught in her throat. "I know, Hermione. We'll figure this out. It's us, right? Together. Always?"

She met his eyes. _Always. Please Harry, mean that the way it sounds. Just take me in your arms again and hold me._ But he looked confused. She bowed her head down, while raising her hand and placing it upon the one already on her shoulder. "You know I will never leave you, Harry." _I can't hurt Ron, but something had changed in the past days between us, hadn't it?_ She had caught him staring at her a few times before they changed watch. At first, she saw concern in his eyes, but something different was there now. Something darker. It wasn't until just now that she had allowed thoughts about it to surface.

Harry pulled his hand away and walked toward the door of the tent. "I'll keep watch. You have a decent meal for once, okay?" He turned his head, and a smirk crossed his lips. "And if you're good, I have a surprise for you later..." he chuckled as he exited the flap.

She couldn't help smiling in return. _What did_ that _mean?_

* * *

Hermione spent the next couple of hours organizing the supplies Harry had brought, then resuming her constant research on Horcruxes. It was twilight before he again entered the tent.

She was sitting alone beside the bed, pensive and sad, her knees drawn up almost in a fetal position. Despite the book open beside her, it was obvious she had stopped reading long ago, unable to concentrate, unable to focus. _She's thinking of him again_ , Harry opined to himself. _Please, please don't let her cry again. If Ron only knew what it would do, he would never have left her like this._

He walked from the door, listening to the soft sound of the wireless. A melancholy song began to play. _Great_. _Can this get more depressing?_ He sat down and stared, lost in thought. She looked cold and so alone. Her dark plaid shirt and jeans were a rather boyish ensemble, but all he could think about was how much she had turned into a woman before him in the past few days. Ashamed at himself for leering at her body, his gaze shifted upward to her brown hair, gathered loosely together on the back of her head. Yet that only exposed the silken skin of her neck that his hand had grazed the previous night.

 _I can't keep gawking at her forever._ He knew she'd catch him again, and he was running out of excuses. But he also couldn't look away from the sorrow on her face; at that moment, he'd do anything just to break the cycle of hopelessness that had infected both of them.

And then he surprised himself by rising from his chair. Hesitating only a moment, Harry drew on his Gryffindor courage and walked up to her. He offered a hand. She stared at him, baffled by his gesture. _What does he want?_

Harry looked down at his hand, then put it forward again. _He wants to... dance? Now?_ She half-rolled her eyes.

She rose slowly and took his hand, eyeing him carefully. His hands dipped inside the front of her shirt. _Harry?_ He reached around and pulled off the necklace that had been burdening them both and tossed it aside. _Was he staring at my mouth again?_

He began to rock back and forth, pulling her hands with his. _Yes, Harry_ , _let's forget this sadness. Let's forget the War. Let's forget Voldemort, if only for tonight._ She couldn't help it as the corners of her mouth turned up.

Emboldened by her closed-mouth smile, he threw her back and put her into a spin under his arm. It wasn't the smoothest of dance moves, but the execution didn't seem to matter. She let out a very un-Hermione-like giggle in delight. _Please make that sound again_ , he pleaded silently. _It's been so long since we laughed together._ And then she was in his arms, clutched tighter than before. He flung her again, and they moved on to silly dance moves, challenging each other, heedless of how ridiculous it might look to outsiders. After they spun once more, without warning they were pressed close again, his head on her shoulder, as she wrapped an arm snugly around him. "Is this my surprise?" she laughed.

He couldn't help but laugh too. "Actually, no. That comes later. This surprised me too, 'Mione."

She laughed again as they continued to sway. He felt so warm, so safe. "What did you call me?"

"I don't know, 'Mione. Do you like it?"

"Not really. I mean, it's sweet," _and sounds weirdly intimate_ , she thought, "but I like my whole name."

"Okay." He pulled away to look into her eyes. Her smile dropped, as dark, chocolate orbs with a burning fire in them gazed back. He had always thought her pretty, but this was entirely new, entirely raw. Her eyes dropped to his lips, then quickly darted up again.

 _Oh Merlin, Hermione. Do you know what you're doing to me right now?_

But she had glanced down at her feet and was pulling away as the song died. _He can't feel that way toward me. He's Harry. He's my best friend._ She started to walk back toward her bed.

His hand caught hers once more.

She turned her head and stared at their contact for what felt like an eternity. Not certain what to expect, Hermione dared to look up again and saw it in his green eyes, too. _Is he angry with me?_ No, she had never seen him like this; it scared her. And then, the revelation dawned: it was burning, raw desire. _For her_.

He took a step forward, and then another. Their faces were only inches apart now as those emerald eyes bored into her soul. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to be closer, had to...

Their lips brushed, just a tiny bit. The softest caress, as one might touch a newborn baby's cheek. But in an instant, that was gone. In place of that innocent touch was a jolt of electricity, a magnetic pull unlike either had ever felt, urging them to close the gap once more.

Their mouths now crashed into each other hungrily, as they yearned to be closer. Lips parted, tongues were rapidly admitted entrance, and limbs flailed frantically as they collapsed together on Hermione's bed. _Sweet Merlin_ , she barely registered in conscious thought. _I could never imagine anything like this with Ron_. What was she doing? But then his mouth was on hers again, and she couldn't remember what she had been thinking. It was only Harry, enveloping her entire world.

Harry had never kissed anyone like this, either. He wasn't quite sure what his body was even doing. His lips and tongue and hands were moving of their own volition, grasping for closeness, grasping to be one with _her_. The smell of her hair, like the forest and clean soap intermingled. The _sounds_ she was making. _Good lord._ He could feel both their hearts pounding fast, joining in this frenzied chorus of ecstatic delight. But after a few minutes, he felt her pull away, slowly but firmly. He opened his eyes.

He didn't know her eyes could be any darker than before, but her pupils were dilated so far she looked like a drug addict. They were both panting, heaving hot air in and out between them, sharing their breath.

"Harry?" she broke the silence. If she was scared by his look earlier, now she was positively terrified. Her fingers were caught in his wild hair, and he looked like an animal ready to pounce.

"Umm..." he managed to grunt, still breathing fast.

"Harry, what are we _doing_?"

He blinked. Then blinked again. And again. His look finally softened, as his mouth turned into a smirk just like the one he wore as he exited the tent earlier. "Well, it seems we are snogging each other senseless."

Now it was her turn to blink at him. And then a tiny giggle emerged, turning into a chortle, then a laugh, and finally a full-blown guffaw.

He didn't know what to do, but her laughter was infectious. He hadn't seen her laugh like this in years, and he loved her for it. _What was that? I love her?_ Of course he did, he always did, but this... _this_...

He rolled off of her a bit, but they still clung with arms around each other as they laughed side by side. All the tension of Voldemort, the War, the Horcrux hunt, the drama with Ron—it was all left behind. It was just the two of them, enjoying a perfect moment of absolute bliss. It was a release unlike either of them had ever known.

The laughter finally died away, and they were left gazing at each other again. "Well," Hermione said, a bit breathlessly, "was _that_ my surprise?"

Harry couldn't help as a fit of laughter began again. "Actually, no," he finally got out. "This one also surprised me." He brought his face closer again, touching his forehead to hers.

"Then, uh... what _are_ we doing, Harry?" At this point, she really didn't care what his answer was. Whatever just happened was so goddamn wonderful that she could live off the memory of it for the rest of her days.

"I thought we already established that." She punched him lightly on the arm.

"No, you git. Why did _this_ happen? _What_ is happening? What are we doing?" The tripartite question accentuated the fact that she had now broached the question thrice.

"Well, you kissed me," he said softly.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER," she cried in mock anger, "I did not! Er... I did, but you started it."

"Yeah, with my awesome dance moves?" They both laughed aloud again. "Actually, Miss Granger, I'm pretty sure you kissed me first. I just walked up to you." The smirk was there again.

"Oh, so I guess I misinterpreted the gesture? You were just going to help me into bed and tuck me in?" As the banter went on, two sets of hands were idly exploring each other's arms, hair, necks, and faces.

"I still could." His eyes were suddenly dark again, and his mouth became serious.

"Harry," she sighed. Then, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, she sat straight up. "Ron!" Harry looked away. He dreaded what was about to happen. "I forgot about him," she muttered, her hand leaving his body to clutch the back of her neck. _What were we doing!?_ And then, slowly, she realized the answer. She wasn't thinking of Ron, because Ron had never made her feel anything like this. Ron had never been able to sever her link to reality so completely. Not that she didn't care for him: of course, she loved Ron. But this, _this_...

"Erm, Hermione..." Harry pulled her out of her internal monologue.

"Mm?"

"The tent's on fire."

"WHAT?!"

* * *

Harry nonchalantly pointed down past their feet. Smoke was indeed rising from the corner of the tent, and she could see tiny flames flickering even on the fire-retardant material. She then came to her senses enough to glance around and saw that wasn't the only thing burning. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed flames were coming up from a blanket on the ground that they had tossed aside, and the wooden table beside the bed... simply wasn't there anymore. Only a pile of ashes remained. Thank Merlin she had moved her books earlier.

With great reluctance, Harry extricated himself from the bed and found his wand, stamping out a few flames and casting an _Aguamenti_ to finally extinguish the blanket before it caught other things on fire. The spell sputtered forth a small shower of water, and Harry had difficulty focusing to sustain it, though he admittedly was having trouble focusing on anything at the moment.

Hermione's brow was furrowed as she sat up and gawked open-mouthed at the scene. "What the _hell_ happened?"

"Surprise!?" Harry offered cheerily, somewhat shocked at her profanity.

But she was deep in thought. _It couldn't be_. _It just couldn't. Really?_

A few moments passed. "Penny for your thoughts," Harry chirped, as he sat back down on the bed.

"Umm, Harry... do you know what happened?"

"Stuff caught fire. I put it out." She punched his arm again.

"NO. _Why_ was it on fire?"

"Well, what we just did. It was... er, really _hot."_

She blushed. "Harry, you don't understand. I mean, accidental spontaneous magic can sometimes happen to children and even rarely to adults. But it almost always happens for a valid, conscious _reason_ , generally in moments of great emotional stress. You're in fear and you summon magic to protect you..."

"Or you want your cousin to get bitten by a giant snake," Harry chuckled.

A smile again crossed her lips. "Yes. But we are mature wizards, and this fire was not conjured for protection or any other conscious reason. And we certainly weren't under stress."

"Not any more..." Another smirk.

"Frankly, Harry, the only known occurrence of such accidental magic I can think of involving an, er, romantic encounter was between Peter Abélard and Héloïse in the twelfth century. They were known to set several fires unknowingly, almost burning down a good portion of medieval Paris on one occasion. Eventually, fearing for everyone's safety, others drove them apart."

"But, they couldn't stop them from being together, could they?" Harry was now intrigued.

"Not at first. The fires still happened, sometimes even when they had the slightest contact with each other."

"What finally stopped the accidental magic?"

"Umm..." Hermione looked grave. "He was... castrated."

Harry's eyes grew wide, and then his face fell into his hands. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

She moved next to him and wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling him close in a manner that just an hour ago would have been an innocent embrace between friends, but now carried infinitely more meaning. "Harry, stop. Hold on. You don't understand. That was centuries ago. They didn't understand magic like we do now. And the whole situation between Abélard and Héloïse was incredibly complicated by religious and social mores of the time."

"Huh?"

"What I mean is: current theories suggest that they didn't have a chance to learn to control their magic together. They probably didn't even realize it was happening. Accidental magic in those days was often assumed to be some sort of divine intervention rather than an uncontrolled outburst. In fact," she paused, unsure whether to bring this up, "some scholars think that such magic can be channeled together, in a manner some couples can already do to a limited extent with normal magic."

Harry was stunned. "You mean this could actually make us both _more powerful_? More prepared to fight Voldemort?"

Hermione sighed. "No, Harry. Er, I don't know. This is all speculation. But I suppose it's possible, if it could be channeled correctly."

"So let me get this straight," Harry looked very serious. "I've been with Ginny for a while. Nothing like this ever happened. Nothing like this ever was..." He suddenly blushed and felt incredibly shy. "And now half the bloody tent is on fire here. And you're telling me that if I just focus my love for you, I could vanquish Voldemort for good?"

Her eyes dropped. _Had he really just said that? Did she dare?_ "Harry?"

He grunted, lost in thought.

" _Harry!_ "

"Umm, yeah?"

"Love..." she paused, her voice unsteady, "... for _me_?"

 _Shit, shit, shit! I said that aloud?_ "Hermione," he implored as he tried desperately to put the genie back into the bottle. "You know I've always loved you. You're my best friend in the world."

"Yes, and I love your friendship too, but that isn't what it sounded like there." Both of them stared downward. The whole world seemed frozen in time.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you in love with me?"

A full minute passed. He didn't speak, because no matter what he felt, he couldn't betray Ron. And, frankly, he still wasn't sure what had happened just now. Was this only a passing feeling between two teenagers left alone with their hormones in a forest together? No, it was definitely more. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than anything he knew. She was now with Ron, though. Harry had and would always love Hermione, but the trio had been divided, and that was that. On the other hand, he also couldn't lie to her. He could never deceive her. She'd know.

As the seconds ticked on, Hermione's face grew darker and darker. She had pushed him too far. He didn't care for her that way. Of course not. How could she ever think that? This was just his bizarre way of cheering her up somehow, and it had bloody well worked. _If that's all we ever have, I'll be grate_ —

"Yes."

"What?" she whimpered, refusing to believe she heard it.

He turned, and his hand lifted her face to his. "Surprise." Her eyes went wider than he'd ever seen them. And then her lips were back on his, arms flailing around him, pulling him closer. He was overwhelmed by the vigor of her reply, but again found himself responding instinctively. _Merlin, how could I have waited so long to do this?_ The softness of her lips and tongue and those sounds she was making again; he just wanted more and more of that. A couple of minutes later, he managed to pull away, eyes darting around for any signs of flames. Two of the chairs were smoldering, but the tent wasn't in danger of imminent combustion.

"Merlin, Harry," she said, still gasping for breath. Her eyes remained shut for a moment before fluttering open.

"So I, uh... guess the feeling is mutual?"

A giant smile beamed across her face. "Of course, Harry. In some ways, it's always been you. I can't remember when I didn't love you. I mean, as a friend at first, then something much deeper. But I just..."

"What about Ron?"

"I never thought you and I could be like _that_ , I mean, like... _this_. We were friends. I love Ron, I really, truly do. And he makes me happy. But with you..." her voice trailed off as she bit her lip. "This is all so new. I'm still not quite sure how this happened. I didn't think you ever saw me that way."

"Well, after the Yule Ball fourth year, I certainly did."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I noticed you were a _girl_. And that I _could_ be interested that way. But I just thought we never, you know, would—because I'd never give up our friendship. _Never_. So I didn't allow myself to dwell on it."

Hermione suddenly looked glum. "We've wasted so much time."

"Hermione." Harry was quite serious. "We're still very young. We have so much of our lives in front of us. We'll figure this out. Well, first, we'll need to sort out how to stop causing things to spontaneously combust..."

They shared a soft laugh, and he hugged her close. She buried her face in his chest, again feeling the new meaning of a position which was so much more intimate than it was the previous night.

"So, this sort of thing hasn't happened in over 800 years?"

"That we know of, Harry."

"Wow."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly." She was perfectly content. A minute passed as they lingered in the feeling of closeness, before she sighed happily and looked up at him. "What do we do now?"

"I _could_ put you to bed and tuck you in as we discussed earlier." His eyes had a mischievous look that caused her to raise an eyebrow. "Or, I suppose I could give you your actual surprise."

"Wait, there's _more_?" Her smile turned devilish. "Potter, this isn't just some euphemism for your penis, is it?"

His eyebrows raised, as he was taken aback by her bluntness. Hermione wasn't quite sure if he were going to turn crimson or as white as a sheet. "No, erm... I thought we could take our time with this, I mean... well, we don't want to burn the entire forest to a crisp, right?"

She giggled. "I suppose not. And there's no reason to rush things now."

"So, then I guess it's option number two." Harry leapt up and headed for the area of the tent that functioned as their makeshift kitchen and dining area.

"Umm, what's going on?"

Harry pulled out two bags that he had hidden earlier. He transfigured a pan into a stovetop espresso pot, dumped some powder in, and set it on one of the still-smoldering chairs. The smell of brewing coffee soon filled the tent.

Hermione watched in awe. "Harry, what have you done?"

"I know you have this thing for Muggle coffee sometimes. Frankly, I remember it from the Dursleys too."

"I never knew you noticed. It actually," her eyes watered slightly, "reminds me of my parents. They'd have a cup together almost every morning, with a pot almost just like that. Sometimes for an after-dinner dessert too."

"I saw it." He didn't need to say another word. Hermione was dumbfounded. How well did he really know her? Harry had only seen her parents a few times, and Ron would never have picked up on a detail like that. "So, uh, I got this too." He pulled his hand from behind his back in a sort of _ta-da!_ motion, revealing the pumpkin pie he had acquired at the pub.

She couldn't help letting out a little squeal of delight. "Pumpkin? Oh Harry, it's been a long time since I've had it. You know Ron doesn't like it."

"Neither does Ginny. She's into some sort of orange soda thing. I could never quite figure out how that makes a proper dessert."

Hermione bent down and sniffed, hints of cinnamon and nutmeg bringing a small grin to her face. "It looks wonderful. Where on earth did you find it?"

"I was kind of shocked that they had it at a Muggle pub. I think the cook must be American or something." He chuckled to himself. "The barman nearly fell over when I said I wanted the whole pie."

As Harry sliced up the pie, Hermione set about bringing order to the scorched tent. She kept stealing glances at Harry, still not quite believing what had happened between them. Struggling to concentrate as she smiled to herself, she was finally able to repair the fire damage on almost everything. The table beside the bed was a lost cause, though. She shrugged and whisked the ashes out the tent door. Settling down to face a steaming cup of coffee, she patiently awaited her surprise treat.

But Harry wasn't quite finished. He had somehow managed to create a bowl and whisk from their smattering of random kitchen equipment. A couple of minutes later, he was ready to fling a generous dollop of whipped cream on each of two large slices of pumpkin pie.

As they tasted it, neither spoke for a while, aside from a few involuntary moans of delight. "This," Hermione struggled to not talk with her mouth full even as she took another bite, "is _really_ good." He gazed at her in outright adoration. "Potter?"

"Huh?"

"You're doing it again. You did the same thing earlier today. If you don't stop, I'll start thinking you have some weird fetish for watching people eat."

"Hermione, I could watch you do nothing at all... for hours," he said dreamily.

"Okay, okay. Let's not get too sappy here." She said it with a tone of derision, though Harry could tell she privately loved the sentiment.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just really enjoying our break from, well, everything right now." He took a forkful of his pie, reached across the table, and offered it to her lips.

"Harry?"

"Humor me."

"Okay." She took the bite from his fork, knowing that this was quite simply the most saccharine romantic scene she could ever imagine. But she was wrong, for a moment later she saw his eyes shining brightly at her. She didn't get the joke until he reached across the table and cupped her face with his hand. As she leaned into the soft gesture, he smiled and wiped a drop of whipped cream off of her nose with his thumb, before shrugging and licking his hand clean.

She had to roll her eyes at that.

"I really do love you, Hermione."

She looked down, taking in the perfection of all that had transpired. "I... I love you so much. And I hate this War so much. Oh, it's a crazy world." She didn't want to go back to it, didn't want to leave this moment. The melancholy came into her voice again. "Maybe we should just stay here, Harry... grow old."

"Let's not think about—" Harry started, also not wanting to leave the moment.

But she interrupted. "Anything can happen. I mean, if something should keep us apart, wherever they put you and wherever I'll be, I want you to know that..." she stopped, unsure how to even convey the depth of her emotion right now. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes with a plea, "Kiss me." Surprised at herself, she grew bolder. "Kiss me as if it were the last time."

Harry was shocked by her words, but needed no further invitation. He took her hand again as they stood together, then literally swept her off her feet and laid her gently upon the bed, _their bed_. They kissed for a long while, now more gently than before, savoring the new love between them. This time, no sparks erupted around them, just the subtle fires in their eyes and the warmth of their bodies. But they grew tired quickly; there would be other days to explore further. Harry and Hermione hadn't slept well in ages, and they slowly drifted off, spooned together, arms wrapped as tightly as they could be around each other. Harry's last thought was a repudiation of that morning's gloom: _I'll never feel cold like that again._

* * *

It was very dark. A couple of hours after they had fallen asleep, near the stroke of midnight—had there been a clock around to sound it—a distinct flare and _pop_ sputtered on the table. Little did they know that Hermione's final statement might become more true than they could ever imagine, as the remainder of the pie magically vanished into thin air.


	2. Ch 1: Like a Sister - 1997

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to all who have read and reviewed so far. A reminder that this story will follow canon (at least mostly), so this chapter was bound to happen as our heroes resume the narrative of Deathly Hallows. To be clear: the events of the prologue _did_ actually occur, though there will obviously be a mystery to unravel. Sorry to H/Hr fans, but the epigraph hinted this will not be easy for them. All promises made in the opening remarks to the prologue will ultimately be adhered to.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Like a Sister**

 _The Wilderness, the following morning_

He hadn't slept this well in ages.

As Harry stirred, though, he became aware of an unprecedented sensation. There was something in his bed. Something warm and alive, and one of his arms was draped around it. He turned his face and spluttered as gobs of hair caught on his mouth and nose. Unwelcome scents of woods, soap, and nighttime sweat filled his nostrils. _What the...?_

It was Hermione. They were sleeping in the same bed. _Had she come over during the night?_ He wouldn't blame her; Ron's departure had left her vulnerable and alone, not to mention it had been so frigid the past few days. He raised his head up a few inches and gazed over at her. Even through the blur without his glasses, he could see she was still sleeping contently, a pool of drool forming on the pillow beside her. Her hair was... simply everywhere. Harry knew she'd hate to be seen like this. He was relieved that she finally got some rest, but why were they here? Who had stood watch?

It slowly dawned on him that there were other unfamiliar features to his location. It was Hermione's bed. _This was not good_. He sought to untangle himself from her hair, but it was a nearly impossible task to avoid pulling on her in a way that would undoubtedly startle her awake. And then there was his other arm underneath her – _What was going on?_

Harry finally managed to extricate one hand as she stirred slightly and turned. But now she was face-to-face with him, his other hand still stuck in her hair.

Her eyes flickered open, then grew wide. " _Harry!?_ "

He didn't know what to do. He tried looking down, but that was wrong. He looked back and forth, then back to her face, appearing to be a combination of a deer caught in headlights and a little boy caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Hermione, for her part, simply couldn't believe he was there. Obviously this was _her_ bed. They were friends, but this was a truly strange violation. He had been known to hold her when she was really upset, as she had been lately, but that was very different from a putting up a welcome sign inviting him to her _bed_.

"Hermione, I really don't understand what's happened here."

"Well, Harry." Her face was impossibly stern. "Obviously you, for some unknown reason, decided to climb into bed with me last night!"

"I... I..." he stammered, "I don't remember. I don't know what happened." It was the truth.

She thought back and quickly realized something was off with her recollections, too. She couldn't remember the previous day clearly. All she could picture in her mind were several days after Ron left, weeping, standing watch, weeping, and struggling to sleep peacefully without nightmares. She did have to admit that this morning she felt well-rested for the first time in months.

Harry finally managed to get his second hand free from her hair and pulled himself away quickly, sitting up on the side of the bed. His head fell to his hands. "I'm... so, so sorry Hermione. You know I'd never..." He didn't even know how to finish that sentence, the thought was so horrifying to him. He respected her. He loved her as a friend.

She sat up now too, pulling away abruptly, but looking intently at him. "Harry, it's... okay." She was still coming to terms with this entire scenario, but Harry clearly was as shocked as she was. "Look, I'm not sure what happened. We've been here so many days I don't even know what date it is anymore. We've both been so exhausted, as we've tried to keep a 24-hour watch with two people, when we could barely manage that with three. Obviously either you went into the wrong bed first, and I was too tired to notice when I climbed in, or you accidentally found the wrong bed in the darkness or something. It's really no big deal."

"Hermione." His face was grave. "We slept together."

"No, Harry," she winced, thinking of Ron. "Don't say it like that. We slept in the same bed, because we were too exhausted to even know the difference. We're best friends, Harry, and you've been doing more than your share to take care of me for days now. I do know for certain that you'd never hurt me or whatever crazy thoughts are going through your head right now." She was still confused about the whole situation, even more by her uncertain memory than by the fact that Harry had shared her bed. And where was that little table? Didn't they have a table beside the bed before? She felt so foggy; they had just been trying to do too much. "Let's just get some breakfast, okay?"

The two were somewhat puzzled to discover that they had slept until almost noon, and they also had a well-stocked pantry of food. A fuzzy flash of memory came to Harry. "I... I got this stuff from the nearby village. I went to a store. You hit me when I came back."

She chuckled, her face brightening for the first time this morning. "Yeah, I vaguely remember that too. Sorry. We must have just fallen asleep at some point after that. I know I've felt exhausted for weeks, but we both must have been really out of it yesterday." She continued looking through their stores. "Hey, you bought coffee?"

"Yeah, so I did. I know you like it sometimes." She couldn't hide a tiny grin. "Let's have a cup."

 _He really does care_ , she thought _._ Sometimes he could be a complete idiot, but it was these little things. He knew she had been upset, so he brought her something inconsequential but also so significant. That's what made him her best friend.

But then there was Ron. Why did he have to leave? The dark feelings threatened to return to her mind once more, though she held them at bay. It would be so much better with the three of them back together, like always.

Harry noticed her grin turn to a frown and eyed her with uncertainty, as he placed the steaming cups on the table. "Look – We're going to be okay, right? The two of us?" Hermione nodded. "Good. Because you're like the sister I never had." She smiled lightly, and he touched her hand. "Hey, I don't know what I'd do without you. The days and nights have been bleeding together so much, but we finally got some rest."

His face then became more gloomy, as he hesitated. "I think we need to move on. I swear I've sensed someone watching us in the past few days."

Hermione was staring at her hands, wringing them together absentmindedly. Harry looked down and immediately understood. He continued, "Listen... He chose to leave, but I know he still cares for you. He just needs to sort things out. I'm sure we'll find a way to catch up with him again when he's ready. The three of us could never stay apart for long."

"Okay," she said, as she finally met his eyes. "You're probably right."

He took a sip from his coffee, savoring the aroma and warmth.

"And Harry?"

"Huh?"

"We probably shouldn't tell him about this."

"You mean our shared morning cup o' Joe?" She punched him lightly in the arm. _Yep, things were normal again._ Harry's face finally lit up with a grin. "Yeah, I know what you mean. He'd blow his top even if it was just a freak accident. Let's promise each other we'll never get that exhausted again."

"Deal."

Later that day, they packed up their tent and moved on, both of them believing that they'd never look back.


	3. Ch 2: Delusions - 16 Jul 2005

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** This and subsequent chapters will be clearly dated. Each date refers to both a major revelation in HP canon in the real world and the day the story takes place within the Potterverse. The significance of each date will be identified in a footnote, though there will be enough clues that the inspiration for many chapters will likely become clear.

The next chapter will return us to the primary action, where we'll see our two main heroes interact again. Important reminder: this story is and will be H/Hr, though it may take a while for them to sort things out.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Delusions**

 _July 16, 2005_

"Sometimes, I swear she can be _completely_ mental, you know?"

Harry nodded, as he downed the last drop from his pint. "I know, I know. Have another?"

Ron bottomed-up next, and Harry motioned for two more. The Leaky Cauldron was loud and crowded today, but Harry knew that his best mate only had another week as a bachelor, and he thought Ron should make the most of it. They were both glad to have an evening together.

"Ron, you won't believe where the time can go, especially once you start having kids." Harry then added quickly, "Don't get me wrong: I wouldn't trade in my time with James for anything in the world, but take the moments you have and enjoy yourself now."

Ron was suddenly quiet and shifted in his seat. "That's a scary thought. I mean, I've barely thought past next week. I can't quite imagine myself being a dad. Not that we're near that yet, but I know Hermione will want to have kids someday." He paused, his eyes looking off as he considered the idea. "What if I'm terrible at it?"

Harry laughed. "You'll be great, Ron. The very fact that you'd even be worried about it is a good sign. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time now with James. But somehow I think kids always end up okay, as long as their parents love them." His gaze on his glass turned abruptly wistful.

They were silent for a time, as they sipped their drinks. Finally, Harry spoke up. "So what was it this time? Too much Quidditch discussion again?"

"Oh, I don't know. She was going on and on about these fictional characters and this crazy Jane Austen woman who wrote stories centuries ago. She's been reading these books for the past couple months. Mr. Knightley and Mr. Churchill and dozens of other names. I just finally gave up and told her that I couldn't make head nor tail of it and hadn't been listening to her for the past hour..."

"You just _told_ her outright that you weren't paying attention?" Harry shook his head, a grin across his lips. "Beginner's mistake, mate. After you're married, that's the last thing you'll want to admit."

"It was all just so bloody confusing, though, Harry."

"Believe me, I know. Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy and Edmund Bertram... that last one is quite the muddle."

Ron's eyes grew wide in disbelief. " _Bloody hell_ , Harry! You know more of them than I do."

"Not really. I only know about this stuff because Hermione would go on and on about it when we were having coffee too. She has these convoluted theories about how the love triangles function across all the novels. Once she drew a giant diagram of it out for me. I couldn't follow it either. I finally went to a Muggle bookshop and bought some abbreviated summaries so I could try to do more than smile and nod. _Oh my god_. Five hours later or something, I got up, shaking slightly and yelling, 'What is going on?' Ginny thought I had gone bonkers."

Ron still stared in amazement. "I can't believe you even got that far."

"You'd be surprised at the kind of things you end up doing when you have a toddler." Harry took a large swig of his ale. "James doesn't like it when we leave him alone right now, so I sometimes spend an hour or two in his room many nights just waiting for him to fall asleep. It's a great time to catch up on auror reports."

A silence fell between them again.

It was Ron's turn to speak up, his voice now quiet and thoughtful. "Do you think we'll be okay... I mean Hermione and me?"

Harry eyed his friend, seeing a sincere look of worry on Ron's face. He had been concerned when they had fought in the past, but this seemed different. "You love her, right?" Ron stared at his glass and nodded. "I know you do. I've always known that, and she has too. We're all best friends, and we have been since our first year at school. This is just some jitters with the wedding com-"

Ron interrupted, "Did you ever think it might have turned out differently?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when Hermione and I first got together at Hogwarts, we were still basically kids. Everything was new and strange and wonderful, and the War distracted us sometimes from our problems together. But now it's just the two of us, and it seems hard sometimes. I know this sounds crazy, but I sometimes feel like she's been reading these old romance books because of what the two of us don't have..." Ron's voice trailed off into contemplation. He didn't know if he could really talk about this with Harry. He didn't know whether he wanted to hear an answer.

Harry was now worried. "Come on, now. The two of you have your spats, but you're brilliant together."

"That's not what I mean." Ron's tone suddenly shifted. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?" Harry was legitimately confused.

"Did you ever think it could be different? The three of us." Ron's voice wavered. "You and... her."

"Ron, _what_ are you talking about?"

They hadn't spoken about it since that night at the frozen lake: that horrible vision the Horcrux had shown to Ron of the two of them, kissing each other... rejecting him. "Harry, I mean, the two of you sometimes seem inseparable. Holding hands, walking arm-in-arm-"

Harry was startled by this shift in conversation. He broke in, with slight annoyance, "What, you believe Rita Skeeter now? Ron, you're delusional. I'm _married_ to your sister. I have a child with her. I love my family dearly. And yes, I love Hermione too, but we're friends. _You know that_."

Ron was still staring at his glass. "It's not just Skeeter, you know. Over the years, so many people have looked at you two and wondered. Even all those nights alone with her in the tent before I found you in the Forest of Dean? You never thought...?"

Harry's mind unintentionally drifted back to that strange morning when they awoke in bed together. Now was definitely not the time to tell Ron about _that_. "We've been over this. No, Ron. Obviously I think Hermione is..." He tried to choose his words carefully so as not to upset Ron further. "... pretty. In a Hermione sort of way. Clearly you think so. I am _aware_ that she's a woman, but I just don't see her like that. I'm not sure I've ever seen her like that." He was dead serious. "And besides, I'd _never_ jeopardize our friendship, not with Hermione, not with you."

"I'm sorry, mate. I just-"

"You love her. I get it. And right now you're a little terrified of the next couple weeks. I know the two of you have been on and off again for years, but she said yes to you because she meant it. And we always get through this stuff together, right? All three of us." Harry smiled warmly and clapped him on the shoulder.

Ron couldn't help but be cheered up a bit as he nodded. He finished his second pint and grinned. "Hey, let's get out of here. I have something to show you."

* * *

After a short walk, they wandered into a smithy in Diagon Alley. Magical bellows were working all around as fires burned red hot in the forges. Harry wasn't sure of the last time he'd been in a blacksmith's shop, though he had always had a mild curiosity about the forging of magical weapons since their experience with the Sword of Gryffindor. Modern wizards mostly depended on wands for combat, though, and aurors were only given basic training with weapons in case of an unexpected loss of a wand. That, fortunately, was a rare event, particularly for senior aurors in the field.

"Harry, over here!" Two smiths were levitating a large crate to a low platform, where Ron then helped unpack it. "I had to special order it. Just one more..."

The front of the crate dropped open, and Harry gaped in awe. "Well, that's... _something_ ," he managed to say.

Before them stood an enormous hunk of polished cast steel, formed into the shape of a kind of monument. The front had been cast with letters etched into the surface in an giant font, brightly colored with magical ink, reading:

 _HERMIONE,  
YOU'RE THE ONLY GIRL FOR ME.  
I LOVE YOU.  
RONALD_

"What do you think?" Ron was beaming with pride.

"Subtle."

They both started laughing. "No, seriously, Harry."

"Well it, er... rhymes... a bit."

The smile on Ron's face dropped. "Is it too much?"

"It's the size of a bloody anvil, Ron. You could forge a sword on it. It must weigh several hundred pounds-"

"About three hundred, actually."

Harry just didn't quite know what to say. The gesture was quintessentially _Ron_. Over-the-top, earnest and loyal beyond belief, if a bit lacking in forethought. Harry thought back over the course of Ron's relationship with Hermione. It had taken Ron over three years from when he first talked with Harry about proposing to actually do it. And when he finally managed to ask her the question, the special charm he had prepared to create a background of romantic mood music had gotten out of control and woke up the entire neighborhood late one night. Luckily, Hermione was so flustered and excited that he had finally managed to propose that she couldn't be outraged at the spectacle.

But Ron's earlier revelations at the pub still troubled Harry. He knew that all along Ron had delayed asking Hermione because he wasn't sure she'd say yes. Harry had always assumed Ron's insecurity was just because of their periodic fights and temporary break-ups, but tonight he saw a new side. Harry never meant to get between them; in fact, he sometimes viewed his role as something between a counselor and a referee. He desperately wanted them both to be happy.

Realizing that he had been staring too long without saying anything, Harry finally wondered aloud, "So, where are you going to put it?"

"Well..." Ron contemplated a bit. "I was thinking we could just set it beside the floo at our place or something-"

" _Beside the floo?_ Ron, I know Hermione will appreciate the sentiment, but this _is_ a bit mad, you know."

Ron's expression was sullen, but on reflection, he knew Harry was right. "Blimey Harry, I... I just..." he hesitated, his expression becoming more pained. "You remember when she said I had the emotional range of a teaspoon?"

"It must be up to at least a tablespoon by now..."

"Oi!" Ron gave Harry a friendly shove on the shoulder, his mood temporarily lightening again. "Well, I just wanted her to know. I suppose I sort of wanted _everyone_ to know." He stared down at his feet, fidgeting.

Harry could see the depth of his friend's emotions right now. "She knows, Ron. We all know. And she loves you too. You don't need to drop a bloody anvil in your living room for her to get the hint."

"But after all our fights, I wanted something to make it up to her." He looked intently at Harry, eyes completely earnest.

"You could have just got her a nice coffee maker or something."

"Huh?" Ron was completely lost.

Harry sighed. "You do know she loves coffee? Espresso, actually."

"She doesn't drink it much. It's definitely not like Muggles who have a cup every morning or whatever they do."

"Yeah, but it's special to her. I'm not sure, but I think it reminds her of her parents when she was growing up," Harry explained.

Ron was silent for a while. Finally, he shook his head and spoke quietly, "See, it's this sort of thing that makes me worry. You know this stuff about her. I'm just a bit daft sometimes."

"You'll get there. More importantly, _she_ knows you'll get there, or the two of you wouldn't still be together." Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder. His attempt to help had backfired, and now Ron was obviously feeling even more insecure. But Harry knew from personal experience that ongoing relationships weren't easy or straightforward. "I can't always see things clearly with Ginny either, you know. But you love, and you learn. Sometimes it just takes a bit a of time to see what you're missing."

* * *

 **Footnote:** July 16, 2005 was the date of the infamous interview between JKR and the Leaky Cauldron/MuggleNet forum hosts, where JKR first said something firm about the shipping debates and confirmed for certain that Ron would end up with Hermione in canon. Various allusions to the interview occur above. Jane Austen plots were also a favorite source for H/Hr romance theories, particularly prior to this interview.


	4. Ch 3: Memento - 6 Nov 2005

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Memento**

 _November 6, 2005_

Three soft knocks startled Hermione from her paperwork. "Hmm?" As her eyes drifted up from her desk, they were met by two green ones staring happily at her. "Harry!"

He was leaning against the doorframe, two sleeved paper cups in his hands.

Hermione nearly leapt from her seat before running over and gathering him into a hug. As she wrapped two arms about his midsection, he awkwardly held the cups out and aloft with both arms, trying desperately not to spill anything on her.

"Uh, Hermione?"

She pulled back, arms now loose around his waist. "Mm?"

"I brought drinks." He raised his eyebrows mirthfully as he said it.

"I noticed. Oh, Harry..." Her smile left her. "You do know, now that I'm not drinking coffee..." Her voice drifted off, a slight sadness coming into her tone.

"Yes, and _that's_ why I brought some herbal thing from that Muggle teashop you occasionally order from. Lemon balm, I believe. And," he cocked an eyebrow, "a latte, if you're feeling rambunctious."

She finally pulled her arms away. "You're mocking me."

"Well, you _are_ being overcautious. But I knew what you would want, so here's your soothing lemon tea." He held out one of the cups, which she accepted with a soft smile.

"It smells lovely. Actually, lemon balm is a leaf from the plant _Melissa officinalis_ , so there's no lemon in here. And you do know it's not technically _tea_ , right? "

"Okay, Ms. Pedantry, your delivery boy brought you an herbal _infusion_." He drew out the final word in exaggerated pomposity. This was certainly not the first time Hermione had educated him on the subtleties of hot drink nomenclature.

She let out a giggle. "I know I'm crazy sometimes. But at least now I can blame it on hormones," she said, rubbing her abdomen lightly with her free hand.

"I just hope that kid knows what you're giving up." Harry grinned, as he took a hearty swig from his cup.

"You, you...!" She couldn't resist giving him a small push on his chest in mock frustration. "You just brought that to tempt me."

His smirk said it all: _Guilty as charged_.

She couldn't suppress her own smile as she shook her head and went back to her chair, setting down her cup. "Do you have time to talk, or is this really just a delivery?"

He flopped down in the seat opposite her, noticing the large stack of papers on her desk. "If you have time."

She nodded, still smiling softly. Harry began to explain, "I was doing an interview here earlier this afternoon-"

"On a Sunday?"

"Well, yeah, and figured I'd drop by to check in. How _are_ you?"

Hermione sensed the tone immediately and half-rolled her eyes. "Harry, I don't have a terminal disease. I'm just pregnant, and not very far along at all. Nobody even knows yet, aside from you and Ron... and the obstetrician, of course." He looked down, and she felt a twinge of shame for chastising him. She quickly reached over and grabbed his free hand. "Hey, I'm really happy you came and brought this for me. You're really the sweetest man sometimes..."

He looked up again, a glint now in his eye.

She smiled again and shook her head at him. "I just mean, it's always good to see you, but you also don't need to take time out of your weekend to check in on me, okay?"

He nodded, though both of them knew this request was likely a lost cause. Harry had always been a bit overprotective of Hermione. And he could sense that, despite her cheery demeanor, something was making her a bit anxious. "Okay, well... Then how's work? Heal anyone lately?"

It was her turn to stare glumly at the pile of paperwork.

After completing her studies at Hogwarts, Hermione felt she had had enough of combat and dark magic for several lifetimes already. Thus, when a position for a residency at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies opened up, she applied with excitement. Given her credentials, she was of course at the top of the list for candidates. She passed through her residency quickly, attaining the rank of Junior Healer after only a year and a half. Just three years later, she dropped the "Junior" and was accepted as a full member of the staff, specializing initially in difficult transfiguration ailments. Her colleagues unsurprisingly came to realize that "specialization" was just not meant for her given her broad talents, and she found herself being called in to consult on numerous cases.

At first, Hermione was proud that her expertise was respected, but lately she suspected that some of the other healers had taken to using her as a kind of substitute library. Rather than figuring things out themselves, they'd bring her in just to provide some minor factual detail to help fill in a diagnosis. For each of these consultations, though, she was still required to fill out a report, hence the stack of papers on her desk. Hermione sometimes couldn't help feeling like she was back at Hogwarts, helping others with their homework and even doing the work for them.

She sighed in exasperation. "Actually, to be honest Harry, the more I work here, the more I think maybe I could be doing something else."

"Really? I thought you loved St. Mungo's."

"I do. I really do. But lately I've been doing less healing and more reports. If I'm just going to be filling out paperwork all day, maybe I'd be better off working at the Ministry, writing for a cause."

Harry rapidly thought through the possibilities for what the word "cause" implied. "You're talking about Spew, aren't you?"

"Harry Potter! You know I hate that. It's S.P.E.W. Even Ronald knows better... now."

He was now laughing as he raised his cup to take another sip. "I'm kidding you, Hermione. I know I was a bit of an idiot back in school about it, but what do you expect from teenage boys?"

Her lips curved up again as she shook her head; she never could stay mad at him for long. "Well, anyhow, I was thinking that maybe after I take my leave for the baby, I might consider doing something different. That's all. And if I were writing legal briefs and documents, I could even do some of that from home."

Harry suddenly became more serious, as he leaned over the desk to look more intently at her. "I think that's great, and I'm sure you'll be brilliant at it. But promise me you won't overplan this. An infant needs a lot of time, you know. Trust me. It really put a strain on Ginny and me at first."

"Harry, stop worrying about me. This is all just idle speculation for now." She waved off his concern as she took a sip of her drink, taking in the pleasant aroma. "How is Ginny, by the way?"

"Titanic."

She was aghast. "Harry!"

He shook his head. "Please don't tell her that I said that! I know she's not due for over a month, but she's already having some difficulty getting around. She even left James with his grandparents this weekend so she could have a bit of time to relax." Harry's eyes were distant, and a small closed-mouth smile appeared as he thought of her. "I'm really glad Ginny's getting a break. I think she's meeting up with some of her old Quidditch mates this evening for a sort of 'last hurrah' before the baby comes." Harry sighed, both happy to imagine another child and dreading the loss of sleep and time that likely implied. "Anyhow, I should leave you to your work." He stood up and walked to the door.

Hermione came over to join him in the doorway. "It was so great to see you. Thanks for the _infusion_ ," she said with a smirk. He bent over slightly and gave her a lingering hug goodbye.

Just then, a flashbulb went off. The two turned in surprise to see Rita Skeeter with her photographer. She walked straight up to them and announced, "So, I have a report that there are now _two_ children on the way! Any comment for the _Daily Prophet_?"

Hermione saw Healer Lund, her obstetrician, running up behind the photographer. "Ms. Skeeter! This is completely unacceptable. You had absolutely no right to look over a patient's private records behind my back." Looking dejected, she mouthed a silent _I'm sorry_ to Hermione.

"Any comment?" Skeeter repeated, ignoring the other woman.

"Well, I suppose there's no sense in denying it." Hermione's features were tightened, barely containing her rage. "But no, Ron and I have nothing to say for the moment, and I would appreciate it if you just left our private lives out of your paper."

"Mr. Potter? Anything to add?"

"What would I have to say about it?" Harry wondered aloud. Then it dawned on him. _Shit_. "Just _what_ are you implying, Skeeter?!"

"I'm just investigating for our readers. The truth always comes out!" Both Harry and Hermione glared at her. Sensing she would get nothing more, she turned and briskly walked off, motioning for the photographer to follow. Healer Lund, not knowing what else to do, muttered a second apology and went back to her ward.

"That... _that woman_!" Hermione grunted in frustration.

But Harry was suddenly panicked. "I... I have to tell Ginny. That's if," he paused, looking at Hermione, "if it's okay with you."

"Well, the whole wizarding world is obviously going to know soon enough." Then the same revelation dawned on her that Harry had had a minute ago. "Oh no..."

They could both envision the headlines tomorrow. Skeeter had the photo of the two of them together at the hospital. There would undoubtedly be some nonsense about Harry's "love child" and probably even speculation about the brief time Ron and Hermione had been married.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry, let me go tell Ginny, okay? It's my news to share anyway." She took his hand, then cautiously looked around to see no one else was ready to ambush them. "She's used to these ridiculous stories from Skeeter, but it will be better coming from me..." She didn't add the rest of her thought: _because you'd probably just have this apologetic look for no good reason, which will only just make Ginny worry_.

Harry nodded glumly. "You're probably right."

"I'll go now. She's still home?" He nodded again. "I'm not going to get much else done here today anyway, I think..."

"Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"For one thing, you'd probably not be in this mess." She sighed deeply.

* * *

Ginny stared at herself in her bathroom mirror. _God, I'm huge. Did I really look like this with James?_ Nothing seemed to fit her anymore, even her largest "maternity outfits." Luckily, in the wizarding world, loose robes were almost always an acceptable option. But normally she preferred to dress with more style. Given her status as the wife of the Boy Who Lived, too many eyes were always on her, and clothes were a paradoxical kind of armor. If she looked stunning and unapproachable, it might at least keep the staring focused on her looks, rather than on gossip about their private lives.

Realizing there was absolutely nothing to be done for her figure at the moment, she thought she'd do her best to fix things that were under her control, fussing unnecessarily with her necklace and hair. She then applied a bit more makeup, trying to hide the dark semicircles she had developed as comfortable sleeping positions had become harder to find in recent weeks.

She heard a knock on the door of the flat. "Just a minute," she yelled, repositioning a hairclip one last time before waddling to the entryway.

"Ginny?" A voice called out before she could finish opening the door.

"Oh hi, Hermione! What a surprise!" Although Ginny was legitimately glad to see her friend, her tone betrayed the fact that now was not the best time for a visit.

Hermione smiled as she gave her a quick hug. "It's great to see you, Ginny. And look at you! You're positively glowing!"

"Don't exaggerate. I know I'm enormous right now. I couldn't find anything to wear today-"

"I'm serious. You look great. And Harry actually came by this afternoon, so I know you probably have a date with some friends soon." Hermione couldn't help notice a tiny shift in Ginny's smile when she mentioned Harry's name.

"Oh, he came over to your place?"

"No, I was working today. Harry stopped in and brought me tea. Every once in a while, he actually manages to be thoughtful." They shared a knowing look.

Ginny was shifting her weight from side to side, fidgeting slightly, unsure why Hermione was here. Harry had clearly hinted that Ginny was going out tonight. Did Hermione want to join in her girls' night? As much as she liked Hermione, this was a night with her team.

And, truth be told, Ginny needed some time away with friends to talk openly about Harry. Not that there was any great conflict between them, but he had become increasingly distant in the past month or two. At first, she had assumed it must be due to her pregnancy and shifting appearance, but when she pressed him on it, it had become clear that it was something deeper and more personal. It ultimately led to one of their most heated arguments in years. Finally the next day he had confessed that he just felt a bit overwhelmed at work, and the idea of a new baby on the way just made him feel exhausted already. He hadn't wanted to burden her with what he was going through.

His intent seemed sweet, but Ginny still worried about him. And though she wasn't jealous, she couldn't help feeling a bit hurt to know that Harry was taking time with Hermione, perhaps even confiding more in her. Ginny certainly couldn't talk about any of this with her friends tonight if Hermione came along.

Hermione's voice broke into her thoughts. "Look, Ginny, I don't want to keep you. But there's something I wanted to tell you, and it really can't wait. Can I come in?"

"Of course. I still have a few minutes." Ginny stepped out of the doorway, and they both walked into the living room of the flat. She motioned toward the sofa, choosing a wide chair beside it for herself.

After Ginny sat, Hermione scooted along the sofa to get a bit closer. "I'll get right to it." She looked down for a moment, collecting her thoughts, then up at Ginny. "Well, I guess I might as well just come out with it. Ron and I are having a baby." She smiled brightly.

"Oh, Hermione! Such wonderful news!" Ginny leaned forward, realized her position was not very stable, then shot a somewhat embarrassed look at Hermione as the latter half-stood and hugged her fully. "How far along?"

"Well, only a little over two months."

"Still, you and Ron certainly got down to business." She tried to put on a suggestive grin, but then ended up shaking her head a bit at the awkwardness of referencing her brother's sex life. A moment later, the smile disappeared from Hermione's face, causing Ginny to worry. "What's wrong? Is there a problem with the baby?"

"Oh, no... no, nothing like that," Hermione quickly replied, her hand waving away Ginny's anxiety. "So, I mentioned that Harry came by today. So did Rita Skeeter."

Ginny involuntarily bristled at the mention of the name.

"She somehow managed to sneak a look at my hospital records and discovered I was pregnant," Hermione continued. She paused and looked down again, swallowing hard. "And, well, she got another surprised picture of Harry and me, as we were hugging goodbye near my office. I'm pretty sure all of this is going to be in the papers tomorrow."

Ginny took a minute to try to connect the dots. "So..."

"Given what she said to Harry, I'm pretty sure she's going to publish some more ridiculous lies again about... Harry and me." Hermione was now shaking her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry, Ginny. I'm sorry you'll likely end up dragged into this mess. We haven't told anyone about the pregnancy yet because it's so early and now-"

Ginny's face was downcast, and she couldn't help being a bit annoyed at yet another scandal brewing. Although she'd never admit any of this aloud to either of them, Ginny was occasionally frustrated by Harry and Hermione's seemingly near-constant need to be physically close to each other, even in public. In her heart, she knew that it came from a long bond they shared growing up together and from being so close during the War. And she knew Harry loved her and James. Yet at times like this, it just made everything so complicated.

But she also sympathized with Hermione's plight, a newly pregnant woman shouldered with such a scandalous public outing. Ginny felt awkward enough with the stares after it became known she was bearing the firstborn of the Boy Who Lived; she couldn't imagine what Hermione would have to put up with over the next couple weeks.

She put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "It's okay. We'll get through it."

Hermione turned to look at her, eyes a bit watery. "It means a lot for you to say that." She looked away into the distance. "But now I'll have to go tell Ron," she lamented, sighing deeply. She was actually much more fearful of that conversation.

"You two have been doing well these past months, right?"

Hermione nodded, reading the subtext of Ginny's question to be referencing their now infamous fights. "Yes, Ron's been, honestly, terrific since we got married. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that we were having a baby. There were about two seconds of absolute panic where he turned as white as a sheet, and then he hugged me so close, tearing up. I think he's thrilled at the idea." She paused again. "I just can't express how much I hate that _this_ is how it's going to come out to everyone else."

"Hermione, all of your real friends will know the truth. They'll dismiss Skeeter's nonsense the way they always have. Speaking of which, I am so, so sorry..." Ginny took one of Hermione's hands. "But I'm already going to be late to meet my teammates. Are you going to be okay?" Hermione nodded, pulling herself together. "Anyhow, when you tell Ron, don't apologize to him. It's not your fault. Be angry at Skeeter instead, and make it clear that's where he should vent his frustration."

"Thanks, Ginny. And again, I'm sor-"

"No, stop that. Focus on Skeeter. Be angry at Skeeter. Ron _will_ understand... eventually." Ginny tried not to let on that she was telling herself the same thing internally. "But again, congratulations, Hermione! It's so shitty we need to spend time dealing with Skeeter when we should be talking about babies instead! Let's do that soon, okay?"

The customary goodbyes were said, and they parted ways. Ginny sighed again after the door shut as she thought of Harry. He had already been feeling burdened; now what was he thinking? She had half of a mind to try to find him now, but realized that it would probably make him worry even more. After one last glance at herself scowling in the mirror, she headed out to meet her friends.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Harry was aimlessly wandering the streets of Muggle London, seeking solitude. After the awkward ending to his visit with Hermione, he just needed to get away to a place where no one cared about the Boy Who Lived. He had briefly stopped back at his office to pick up a few things, noticing a small parcel that Headmistress McGonagall had owled to the Department for him. He absentmindedly threw it into his bag along with some auror reports and immediately headed out, not really caring where he ended up as long as there were no _Daily Prophet_ reporters there.

After a leisurely walk along the Thames for an hour or so, the sun was close to setting. Harry began wandering the streets, nodding to the occasional pedestrian and enjoying the anonymity for once. Lost in thought, it took him a long time to recall that he hadn't eaten since breakfast and was positively famished.

Up ahead, strains of soft music emerged from the doors of a Muggle restaurant. The lights above the door seemed to beckon to him, and almost without realizing it, he found himself standing inside, staring at the live jazz band.

"Monsieur, what can I do for you?" a small man with a somewhat exaggerated French accent queried.

"Oh, umm," Harry stammered in bewilderment. He had very rarely been to Muggle restaurants, and he wasn't sure of the etiquette. "Do you serve dinner?"

" _Oui_ , Monsieur, of course. Table for one?"

"Yes, please."

Seeing the direction of Harry's stare, the waiter inquired, "Perhaps Monsieur would like to be seated near the band?"

Harry smiled at him. "Yes, that would be great. What is it they are playing?"

"Ah, I am not an expert on music, Monsieur," the waiter replied while leading him to a table. "But today they are doing a tribute to jazz of the mid-twentieth century. I'm sure Monsieur Blaine," he nodded toward the piano, "will say more about it."

"Thanks." Harry settled in at his table, only now realizing he had no idea what kind of food the restaurant even served. The menu advertised Moroccan cuisine, which he knew nothing about. A few minutes later, after asking for advice from the waiter, he ended up ordering chicken tagine with couscous.

"A very wise choice, Monsieur. If you have not sampled Moroccan cuisine before, I think you will greatly enjoy the preserved lemon, which adds a unique depth of flavor to the dish. These lemons last a very long time, improving with age. When the taste is finally experienced and savored, Monsieur... _C'est magnifique_!"

Harry had never heard anyone rave about lemons so much before, but he could only nod and thank the waiter. He then leaned back and relaxed, sipping a glass of wine also recommended to him. The angry thoughts he had been mulling over against Rita Skeeter were finally starting to pass as he focused on the music. He had never heard anything like it, so plaintive and longing, sounds that seemed to wash over him and clear his mind of worry. He was captivated.

The food arrived, and Harry was astounded by it too. Even the lemon was everything the waiter said, a subtle but clear flavor that complemented the dish perfectly. After his plate was cleared, he again settled back into his chair. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this at peace.

The sounds faded out as a soft applause erupted from the diners. The pianist was now standing at a microphone. "I'm sure you've all been enjoying our little homage to modal jazz this evening. We'll be back after a five-minute break, to close our day with some selections from that quintessential Miles Davis collection, _Kind of Blue_."

Harry sighed. _Is this what it's like for normal people?_ _You just come and hang out at a restaurant, with no dark forces threatening to destroy you, no reporters hounding you, no one staring at you wondering what the Boy Who Lived might do next?_

The waiter was at the table again. "Coffee or dessert, Monsieur?"

"Uh, do you have espresso?"

" _Oui_ , Monsieur, but of course!" The waiter bent down slightly and said in a near-whisper, "Is there any other coffee worth drinking?"

Harry had to laugh. Despite the man's bizarre discourse on preserved fruit earlier, he was growing on him. "What kind of desserts do you have?"

The waiter recited a list of unfamiliar dishes, many of them with French names. He concluded, "And lastly, Chef has a unique autumn treat, which, I should note Monsieur, is _not_ a Moroccan or French delicacy. It is a pumpkin tart _avec crème Chantilly_."

"Is that last one good?" Harry inquired.

"Well, Monsieur, it is not my place to disagree with Chef. But the pumpkin is an acquired taste and somewhat, ah, foreign to my palate."

Harry was now intrigued. Wizards of course loved pumpkin juice and occasionally made other baked goods from pumpkins, but he was aware they were much more rarely eaten among Muggles. Considering only a moment, he looked up to the waiter. "I'll try it."

Without the distraction of the music and the waiter, Harry's thoughts were now free to roam back to his earlier anxieties. He was so angry that Hermione would likely be put through another scandal, not to mention Ron and Ginny. He dreaded seeing the morning owl delivering the paper.

But the image of the owl also brought his mind to the delivery from McGonagall. What had that been about? He opened his bag and pulled the parcel out, unwrapping the brown paper. Inside was a note written in Professor McGonagall's neat and careful hand.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I trust you are well. All of Hogwarts misses you; I hope you'll find time soon to come and give another guest lecture in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes._

 _I have enclosed a small album that I found recently while clearing out some of the former headmaster's belongings. I had forgotten this plan of his, but Albus knew of Hagrid's gift after your first year and how much it meant to you. Albus made it a personal project to collect more photos of you and your Hogwarts family over the years, though I believe he was distracted from this task after the fateful outcome of Triwizard Tournament._

 _The album was thus lost among his things, but I thought you should have it now. I hope it brings back many happy memories._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva_

Unwrapping the inner package and turning through the first pages, Harry was more than a bit overwhelmed by this gift. He knew Dumbledore had taken a special interest in him, but this was truly unexpected. The fact that the album had been forgotten after the return of Voldemort made sense, though. Dumbledore had been increasingly occupied by other things.

Before Harry had a chance to reflect further, he heard the voice of the bandleader, who had returned to the microphone and was announcing the final set. "We'll begin with our rendition of that classic chart from _Kind of Blue_ , 'Blue in Green.' While Miles Davis is generally credited with it, Bill Evans surely had a strong influence. In fact, if you listen to Evans play the chart 'Alone Together' with Chet Baker earlier in 1959, there's clearly a connection."

Harry had no idea what any of this meant, but his ears were suddenly filled with perhaps the most beautiful, most poignant music he had heard this evening. The muted trumpet seemed to be speaking wistfully, recalling a better, more innocent time, while the piano painted visions and landscapes shifting around it.

The waiter now brought his dessert, and Harry was mildly surprised to find what looked to be a small pumpkin pie with whipped cream on his plate. The first forkful was absolutely delicious, velvety and rich, with a thicker more buttery crust than he had ever had before.

As he ate, he began to thumb through the album, glancing at smiling faces. There were Ron and Hermione, of course, and Hagrid. And many of the Hogwarts faculty were there. Harry was shocked to even see a photo of Snape when he wasn't actively scowling at Harry.

Another forkful came up to his mouth, as Harry gradually became aware of an unexpected trend. Many of the photographs showed the trio together, but Harry noticed a surprising number of instances where the focus appeared to be on Hermione and him. While Harry had other pictures of the three of them, most were staged shots with them posing for the camera. Looking at these candid photos, though, he thought back to Rita Skeeter and then to Ron's insecurity a few months earlier.

He and Hermione certainly stood out. There were so many shots of them holding hands, leaning on each other, and hugging each other. Had they really been so close even back then? He hadn't remembered that, but the animated figures of their younger selves were now staring him in the face, acting out their little moments of affection. He paused at one particular image of a young Hermione running up and hugging him close at the end of their second year. _Were we really so young?_ He thought back to the painful nights where Hermione was lying in bed, petrified. He quickly shook off the memory, watching the two children embrace in the photo, affirming their life and friendship once more.

He had to admit to himself, he could now at least understand the basis for Ron's worries. Harry knew he was always close to Hermione, but never before had he realized the depth of their affection as it must appear to others.

Now intrigued, he kept turning the pages, finally reaching their fourth year and the Triwizard Tournament. His memories of that year had always been clouded by the death of Cedric, but now he gazed back on happier times. There was Hermione again, hugging him, wishing him luck, then Hermione wrapping him in her towel and kissing his head on the dock after the surprising result of the second task.

But Harry had the strangest sensation now. His head throbbed, as he stared at the photos. It seemed like these events were different somehow, more vivid than his former memories. He dismissed the feeling, unsure what it meant.

He turned another page, and then his jaw dropped a bit. There she was at the Yule Ball when she first arrived. She was stunningly pretty, obviously still a young girl, but Harry didn't remember her like this. Another photo caught the two of them gazing at each other, both smiling nervously, with Hermione giving him a tiny wave before being led away by Viktor.

He blinked, the strange sensation returning to his head. He stared at the photo of Hermione, seemingly ten times more beautiful than he had remembered, descending the staircase in her pink dress robes. And his younger self was staring back at her with his... _blue eyes_? What on earth was going on? Her dress had been blue, hadn't it? She had been the pretty girl in blue... now a gorgeous young woman in pink.

He screwed his eyes shut, almost certain he was going mad. Maybe he was wrong about the dress, but his eyes certainly were green, weren't they? He finally opened them again, heaving a sigh of relief. The photos still acted out the scene in front of him, but his eyes _were_ green again, and Hermione was again in blue, though still much more beautiful than he had remembered. Except now he _did_ remember that, didn't he? She had stunned him that night, the first time he noticed her _that_ way.

Harry grew increasingly perplexed as his memories were in flux. He didn't think of her like that, did he? Had he? _What is going on?_

His mind was reeling again. He quickly paid the bill and made his way back onto the dark streets, alone with his thoughts once more. Flashes of memories kept coming to him: a little stolen glance here at Hermione's face, a warm feeling there when she grabbed for his hand, the feeling of utter contentment and peace he had when she'd lean up against him and put her head on his shoulder. It was all the same, yet somehow different. He had always cared about Hermione, but now he couldn't stop thinking about her, and deep inside a yearning began to see her, to hold her...

All of a sudden, Harry found himself standing outside the door to her flat. He could barely remember apparating, but he must have come there. He knocked on the door, only then realizing he had no idea what time it was. But it was too late to leave now.

A minute later, the door opened, and Hermione stood there, a thin pale blue cotton robe gathered about her. Her hair was damp and glistened a bit in the soft light. "Harry?" She looked him over. "What's wrong?"

"I... er... I just needed to see that you were all right," he stammered.

One corner of her mouth turned up in a half smile. "I told you that I'm _fine_. You really don't need to check on..." Her voice trailed off as she saw him drop his head and put his hands in his pockets. "Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry couldn't look at her. He couldn't understand what he was feeling right now, or why his eyes had darted to her bare legs as he looked down, even now daring to peek surreptitiously at her toes.

Hermione reached out and put her hand on his cheek, raising his face to look at his eyes. "Harry? You're scaring me. What happened? What's going on?"

His whole body was in overdrive, as his heart was beating hard and fast. Her hand was so soft and warm, and her eyes were loving and showed deep concern for him. He wanted nothing more than to just take her in his arms and hold her as close as he possibly could. But he was also terrified and utterly baffled by those feelings. "Hermione," he finally managed to get out. "I'm so sorry to bother you so late..."

"It's fine. Hey, why don't you come in? Ron stormed off to bed an hour ago after our conversation about Skeeter. After that, I needed to soak in a bath for a while and relax, but I just finished up. Maybe I could get you a cup of tea?"

Harry was still frozen in place, and his eyes had fallen again. "No, it must just be the Skeeter thing." Maybe that's what all this was. It could merely be his wild imagination, brought on by Rita Skeeter and her gossip column. "I should go home. I'm sorry-"

"Are you sure you don't want to just come in and talk for a few minutes? There's something you're not telling me..."

 _You mean the fact that I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around you right now and never let you go?_ Harry's eyes began to well with tears, the yearning for her was becoming so strong - but his fear of this new and strange feeling kept him from acting. "I can't-"

Hermione had rarely seen him so tense and anxious. Without warning, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him close. "Harry, I don't know what's wrong, but you know you can always talk to me..."

 _Not about_ _this_. Harry released a huge sigh at her embrace, reveling in the sensations from their contact. But that relief was short-lived as he felt her warm breath near his ear, her wet hair brushing his cheek, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. The smells of soaps and shampoo and the distinctive scent of Hermione intermingled and acted like a drug, making him feel light-headed. His mind suddenly became keenly aware of the fact that she was likely wearing very little underneath that robe. He pulled away abruptly, looking away in discomfort.

"I'm sorry. I need to get home... to Ginny. I'll see you soon, okay?" He looked up at her briefly, managing an obviously pained smile.

"Okay. Um, goodnight then?" Hermione said, her face still showing concern.

"Goodnight."

Harry apparated himself immediately to his flat and began pacing about his living room, shaking his head in disbelief at what had just happened. _What am I thinking? Why did I go to her? Why did she have to look like_ that _? And w_ _hy did I just stand there like an idiot?_ He quickly poured a glass of scotch before walking over to the sofa and collapsing on it.

 _Fuck._

* * *

 **Footnote:** November 6, 2005 marked the premiere of the _Goblet of Fire_ movie. H/Hr fans rejoiced at the on-screen chemistry between Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe, whose (friendly) relationship was given a lot of screentime. Various elements of canon were modified in the movies (most notably Harry's eye color). Also, Hermione as Healer at St. Mungo's was a common trope in early fanfiction, before JKR made her post-Hogwarts career path clear.


	5. Ch 4: Divination - 21 Jul 2007

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Divination**

 _July 21, 2007_

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

A red blast appeared, and a wand flew from the hand of the dark wizard. He was thrown backward and knocked out as his head skidded to a halt against the wall. The two aurors ran forward and began to restrain his limp form.

"Nice work, Harry. Every time I see you use that spell, it seems to get stronger. One day you're going to blast someone straight through a wall." Dean Thomas was still staring at the unconscious wizard in awe.

"It wasn't deliberate," Harry replied modestly. "I really just wanted to get this over with so we could find out what he knows. But I guess that will have to wait now." He glanced around the bare room. "Looks like he knew we might be coming. Once again, not very much for our report."

"Don't worry, we'll get all these guys eventually." Dean shook his head. "I just don't get it, though. Voldemort's been gone for a decade now, and they're still out there, killing random people. You'd think the Death Eaters would just give it up already."

"There's something we're not seeing here, Dean. Every time we get close to one, it's like they scrub the whole place clean." This was the third Death Eater they had captured in two months, ever since they started to piece together the details behind the murders. Four bodies over the past year, all of them completely drained of their magical energy. They all appeared to be struck by lightning and were found outdoors among the remains from fires, though the bodies weren't burned by fire. It wasn't until the third murder that the aurors even became aware of the reports from Muggle law enforcement. The victims had all been wizards, but no trace of magic was found around them whatsoever. It was only the unusual clothing that finally led Scotland Yard to contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"I don't know what they're hiding." Dean had finished checking the wizard and had found nothing on him. "But let's get this guy back to a cell. We can probably interrogate him tomorrow..." He didn't add what he was thinking: _Not that that will do any good._

Harry also completed Dean's thought in his mind. All of these wizards were apparently trained masters at Occlumency. Even when interrogated by the most skilled Legilimens in the Department, they only gave up a few random memories, often of their young lives, but almost nothing about their recent activities. "You're right. Let's get him back." Harry sighed, then looked up at his friend. "I suppose it's for the best. Then you can enjoy the rest of your weekend. I'm supposed to watch the kids tonight anyway."

"Quidditch match again?"

Harry nodded. Ginny had been occasionally filling in as a reporter at regional Quidditch matches in the past several months. He knew she loved getting back to the game again, but more than that, it helped to get her out of the house sometimes now that Albus was getting older. Harry was never the expert on infants, but he could handle a toddler and an older brother without leaving the house looking like a disaster area. And if worse came to worse, he knew he could put on a Muggle movie to keep them occupied for a while. Since Ginny never watched them, the kids saw this as an unusual and special treat with their Dad.

"Yes, tonight Ginny managed to get an extra ticket for Ron. They're both thrilled. Hermione offered to look after the boys if needed, but it looks like I'll make it back in time. We should probably have a healer check this guy out just in case, but let's get him processed so we can be home for Saturday dinner." Harry was checking the restraints one last time.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Hermione was staring at the dishes in the sink, trying to decide whether to clean them using magic or not. But that wasn't what was really occupying her mind. She shook her head, as she turned back around. "Ronald, you must be kidding. You want to invite strangers into our home? To watch us?" Her voice was raised slightly, but she was more confused than angry.

"Harry's okay with it. And it doesn't have to be here. We can do it anywhere."

"Harry agreed to this?" Hermione cried out in disbelief.

"Well, Ginny talked to him, and he seems to be willing if we are."

Hermione brought a hand to her face and massaged her forehead with her fingers. "You're going to have to explain this again."

"Okay," Ron began patiently, putting his hand on her shoulder and rubbing it gently. "You remember the chocolate frogs, right? They put all three of us on them, and frankly, that was one of the proudest days of my life."

"It's a chocolate frog, Ron." Hermione tried valiantly not to roll her eyes, knowing he was completely serious.

"Yeah, but you didn't grow up with them like I did. It's a really big deal. Anyhow, the outfit that takes the photographs for the frogs is now trying out a new idea. They want short films documenting moments in the lives of famous wizards. I thought this would be good for us. They'll pay us _really_ well, and that will help out with the new house-"

"But you said you want to show all four of us _and_ the kids? Do we really need to bring these people into our private lives?"

"See, that's the best aspect of it all." Ron looked off into the distance. "You know how I hate it when the press covers us anyway, taking photos of us while on vacation, even ambushing us at work. We can't get away from it, Hermione. But this way, we don't have the Rita Skeeters of the world telling our story: we can show everyone the positive aspects, rather than Skeeter's lies and half-truths."

She took his hand, which drew his gaze back to her. "I get it. I still don't know how I feel about it, but I suppose we'll always be in the public eye. How many of these do they want to make again?"

"Well, that's up to us. We might only do one every year or two, if we want. But we'd need to sign an exclusivity contract for ten years."

"Ten years!? Ron, we have no idea what our lives will be like ten years from now!"

"We can stop doing them if we really want to. The contract is just to protect them in case this new distribution idea takes off and becomes popular. They want us – our families – to be pioneers. And besides..." Ron's voice became even more serious. "... I thought it might be a nice way to document some occasions as the kids grow up. Maybe even show them heading off to Hogwarts when they start school..."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "How do we know what will happen? How do we even know if our kids will go to Hogwarts?"

Ron was taken aback, his voice rising slightly in volume. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't they? My family has been going to Hogwarts for generations!"

"And it's a great school. Let's not get worked up about it, okay?" She didn't want to get into an argument now over a hypothetical. "I'm only saying, a decade is a long time. Who can predict what might happen? We could be living on the other side of the world, for all we know."

Ron shuffled his feet and again stared off. "Blimey, I guess you're right. I just sort of assumed that we'd all keep doing the same stuff, like my family always did. But you're working your way up at the Ministry, and Harry and Ginny could end up anywhere..." His expression was now contemplative and a bit sad.

Hermione turned his face back toward her and cupped his cheek. "Hey, no reason to get anxious about it. You might end up expanding the store or doing who knows what. I just think it's good to remember that we're not locked in to some life path. I mean, look at me: a couple years ago, I thought I was going to have a career as a healer at St. Mungo's. I once laughed at the idea of becoming a lawyer. People change, Ron."

"I guess."

She stood up on her toes and gave him a soft kiss, then hugged him firmly. "You're sweet, though. That idea of us sending all the kids off to Hogwarts together sounds lovely. And no matter what happens, you know we'll all still be there for each other, so... why not do this documentary thing?" Ron smiled at her and started to move to kiss her again.

But just then, there was a loud knock at the door. Ginny came barging in, holding Albus awkwardly with one arm, as she balanced a bag on her other shoulder. James was trailing close behind, proudly holding a stuffed dragon. Hermione came over toward the door to meet them. "I'm sorry," said Ginny. "I don't know what happened to Harry. I thought he was going to be back earlier, but the match starts in less than a half hour."

"It's really no problem. Rose will probably be up in a couple minutes." Hermione bent down to look at James's dragon; he smiled up at her. "Did they have dinner already?"

"Yes, they should be fine. I brought an overnight bag just in case he's really late." Ginny turned and called out, "Ron? Are you ready? We need to get going now!"

He emerged from the kitchen. "No need to yell. I'm right here! Just give me one second." He ran upstairs to the bedroom and returned wearing a Quidditch jersey. "I need to show support to the home team!" he said with obvious enthusiasm.

Ginny and Hermione shared a look. "Okay, whatever... are you coming?" Ginny gave a quick hug to her boys, as Ron gave Hermione a peck on the cheek. The two redheads disapparated.

Turning from where his mum had been standing, James looked up and yelled, "Aunt Hermione!" He smiled broadly, ran over, and hugged her leg.

"'Mione!" echoed Albus, grabbing her other leg.

"Okay, boys. Let's see if your cousin is awake, and then we'll find something for you to do."

* * *

About forty-five minutes later, Harry apparated into the living room with a _crack_. He dropped his bag on the floor, and a second later, two little boys came running, shouting "Daddy!" together. Harry scooped them both up in his arms. He looked over and saw Hermione on the sofa, a book across her lap, while little Rose sat quietly on the floor in front of her feet playing with some blocks, barely distracted by the recent commotion.

"I'm sorry to just barge in, and I'm so late." He set the boys down, who ran back and snuggled up to both sides of Hermione on the sofa again. James pointed vigorously at the book. "But I see you have it under control."

Hermione smiled at him. "We're doing fine." She turned to the boys. "Let's just finish this story, and then I'm sure Dad will want to play with you too."

As she resumed reading, Harry stopped briefly in the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. He returned to see Albus now crawled up on her lap, while Rose periodically glanced up at Hermione's dramatic rendering of _We're Going on a Bear Hunt_. Hermione was wearing casual jeans and a cream-colored sleeveless blouse. One of her bare feet was tucked under her other leg as she read. Harry leaned up against the wall, noticing the evening sun streaming in through the window behind her, refracting through her hair, and he couldn't help thinking that she was never more beautiful, surrounded by little children hanging on her every word.

Harry had gradually processed his feelings for her as they shifted since that strange night over a year and a half ago. At first, he had been nervous around her, noticing her every move. Even her scent became intimately familiar and recognizable to him, and he missed it when he didn't see her for a while. But she had simply continued acting as she always had, hugging him, taking his arm when they walked together, occasionally giving him a kiss on the cheek when he did something particularly thoughtful.

After a few weeks, he realized she was still the same woman he had always known, just now strikingly beautiful to him in a new way. But it was more than that: he loved her friendship all the more deeply, savoring their time together even more than before. He had watched over her as Rose grew inside of her, and he was the third person to hold the tiny girl when she was born. He couldn't be happier for the joy Rose seemed to bring to Ron and Hermione.

Eventually, Harry realized that this is what many people must feel in friendships with people of the opposite sex. Yes, there was an attraction, but rather than disturbing him (as it had that first night), it merely cemented his affection toward her.

And of course he loved Ginny and his boys more than anything. Whatever his newfound feelings for Hermione, she was still his friend. Any brief intimations of more than that were immediately suppressed, and after so many months now they were barely even acknowledged anymore.

Still, every once in a while he stole a secret glance at her, smiling to himself. And on rare occasions, she caught him staring at her in wonder, as he was absentmindedly doing right now.

"What?" Her voice drove him from his reverie. She had finished the book, and the boys had joined Rose on the floor, constructing towers with the blocks.

"Oh, I... um, was just thinking about how you and the kids get along together. It's wonderful. And thank you again for covering for me tonight."

"It's really no problem at all. I love being with them." She raised her eyebrows and waved her hand to offer him a place on the sofa beside her. He sat down and breathed deeply, shaking his head. "Long day?" she queried.

"We had a suspect who got injured, and it led to some complications with the paperwork." He glanced down at the children. "But let's not talk about it now."

"How about a glass of wine? Ron and I started a bottle with dinner, but you know how he's more of a beer drinker..."

"That would be lovely." A few minutes later she appeared with two large glasses of red, handing off one to Harry before flopping down close to him, tucking her feet up on the sofa away from him, and snuggling up to his side before putting her head on his shoulder. He barely thought anything as his free arm draped back across the sofa and loosely around her. They sipped their glasses in silence, both perfectly content.

The children were still playing together on the floor. Harry finally spoke, "Somehow this all seems so much easier with you and them. When Ginny leaves me alone with the boys, there's usually a screaming fit by now."

"They're little children, Harry. Give them time. Some crisis will eventually emerge." The two boys, as if aware that their quiet behavior was noticed, began avidly exploring the living room, picking up random objects and debating their potential uses.

Albus was now crawling behind some furniture and, coming upon a bit of dust, erupted into a sneezing fit. As he crawled out, a couple more sneezes burst forth, one landing directly on the face of the surprised James. "DAD!" James whined in a high-pitched voice. "He slimed me!"

Harry burst into laughter, and Hermione couldn't help joining in. "Where did he pick that up?" she wondered aloud.

"It's my fault. When I was a kid, I never got to watch any Muggle movies, and I've been catching up a bit in the past couple years. Sometimes when Ginny's out, we watch something together. They love it, and it passes the time." It all seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

"Harry, you let your little boys watch _Ghostbusters_?"

"Well, James was already curious. He came with me to Hogwarts one day, and he met Nearly Headless Nick-"

"You do realize that movie isn't a documentary, right?" Hermione was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes, but it's a good flick. I missed out on so much when I was a kid." She was now looking at him with disapproval. "Well, we do fast-forward through the racy parts. They _love_ the Marshmallow Man."

James and Albus had resumed their hunt for interesting artifacts in the living room. Rose had finally left her blocks and was trying to crawl after them, making inarticulate cooing noises.

"Guys and their movies." Hermione sighed and put her head back down on his shoulder. "Speaking of which, are you really okay with Ron's strange wizard documentary?"

"I guess so. Ginny seemed convinced that it would give everyone a better perspective to counter all the Skeeter propaganda. It's not a bad idea. People are going to talk about us no matter what."

"That's what Ron said." She let out another sigh. "What is there to talk about anyway? Here we are, on a Saturday night, sitting on a sofa, having a glass of wine, watching our kids play together. How much more boring and domesticated could we be?"

Harry chuckled. "And yet, I _love_ this. There's nowhere else I'd rather be." Hermione pushed herself even closer into his side, wordlessly confirming that she felt the same.

James now wandered close to the hall leading up to the bedrooms. "Hey, where do these stairs go?" he asked to no one in particular.

"'Dey go up!" Albus responded immediately. Harry began shaking with silent laughter.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, just how many times have you watched that movie with them?"

* * *

A couple hours passed in an instant. Harry and Hermione took turns playing with the kids, finishing off the evening with several rounds of hide-and-seek. James was the only child actually old enough to really understand the game, and their attempts to include Albus and Rose in the fun led to several silly mishaps. For the final round, Harry had been crawling on the floor and heard something move in the walk-in wardrobe. Thinking he'd surprise a small child, he flung open the door and charged in, only to run straight into Hermione's legs. She tumbled out and landed on top of him, giggling the whole time.

As her laughter died down, she moved herself sideways to look down at Harry's face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm..." His voice trailed off as he stared up into her eyes, which showed a mixture of mirth and mild concern. Suddenly all the awkward feelings of months before were back, and his heart started to pound. She was so close to him, half of her body sprawled across his. There was a line they _could not_ cross, and it felt like they were dangerously close.

But the spell was quickly broken when Albus came thundering through the door to the room. "Daddy! 'Mione! Found you!" He bent down and hugged them both, and all three were laughing again. They simply couldn't tell him that they were supposed to be finding _him_.

Hermione rolled off of Harry and gathered herself together before standing up. She seemed completely unfazed by their previous close contact, as she held out a hand to help him up off the floor. _She doesn't feel anything like that toward me at all_ , Harry thought as he stood. _Why would she? We've always been best friends. I suppose it makes things a lot easier._

"Harry, why don't you just put the boys to bed here? It's getting late, and Ginny left everything they need." She was walking away from him, gathering up loose toys as she went.

It didn't take much to convince Harry; the evening had been so easy with the five of them together. And he had rarely had a chance to spend so much time with Hermione alone since the kids arrived. He was suddenly glad that the day's earlier events had conspired to make this evening possible.

A couple baths and a few bedtime stories later, Harry found himself back in the living room, sipping a glass of wine from a new bottle, going over his reports as Hermione struggled to get Rose to sleep.

Eventually, she joined him, refilling their glasses. She sat beside him again, now curious at the papers he was paging through. "What's this all about?"

"We've been working this case the past couple months. Scotland Yard tipped us off to it this spring, but nobody quite knows what to make of it. Dean and I were just assigned to it recently, since nobody else had been making progress." Harry explained the details of the four murders and the strange loss of magic. "The press hasn't gotten wind of it, thankfully, because no one even noticed there was magic involved at first. And the victims were all loners, whose disappearance was hardly noticed. The magic was just sucked out of them somehow. Whoever is doing this seems to be very careful."

"Do you have suspects?"

"We've brought in three Death Eaters so far, based on tips about unusual dark magic activity. None of them are talking, and they're able to resist almost all attempts to get information from them. The most the Legilimens can get out of them is something about 'trying.' What exactly they're 'trying' to do, we don't know."

"That's it? No other clues?" Hermione was now thoroughly intrigued. Harry could see the familiar look appear on her face: a new puzzle needed to be solved, and she was eager to work it out.

"Well, here are the crime scene photos." He spread some of them out on the small table in front of the sofa. "If you can see anything there, you'll do better than the rest of the Auror Department."

"Well, I'm certainly not an expert." Hermione's entrance into wizard law in the past year hadn't really led her to crime investigation, aside from some cases of gross abuse of house elves. Nonetheless, she paged through the collection, mostly photos taken by Muggle investigators. The victims were both male and female, of varying ages, with seemingly no distinguishing characteristics. "What's this?" She pointed to a photo of the final victim.

"Oh, I almost forgot. There's the one bit of magical evidence we've seen. That's a magical tattoo, partly erased from the person's forehead. It looks like other victims may have had something like that, too, though they were erased before the bodies were found. This looks like a sort of cursive number 4; we assumed it was because he was the fourth target."

Hermione was now deep in thought, absentmindedly taking another sip of her wine. "Why would they brand someone with the number of the victim?" she wondered aloud.

"Serial killers have ritualistic practices." Harry was not really speaking from personal experience. Since the widespread crackdown on Death Eaters after the War, the wizarding world had relatively few random murders, and true serial killers were almost unheard of. But he had a passing knowledge of Muggle law enforcement profiling, and he had admittedly watched more than a few Muggle movies and crime series.

"Yes, Harry. But this isn't a lone serial killer, right? You think these crimes are being perpetrated by a group of Death Eaters." She picked up a couple of other photos. " _OH!_ "

"What?"

Hermione was now rapidly scanning the photos. "The dates. What were the dates of the murders?!"

"The last one occurred on the sixth of May. Why?"

"Harry, that's _not_ a numeral 4." She leapt up from her seat and was now running up the stairs. A few minutes later, she returned with an enormous musty tome, which she was paging through frantically. "The dates! What are the dates?"

Harry was shuffling through the reports. "The last was the sixth of May. Before that, March sixteenth. The first two happened on the fourth or fifth of May last year and the twenty-ninth of August. What's all this about?"

She released the book onto the coffee table in front of him, where it landed with a loud thud. She pointed excitedly at it. "It's all there! It fits perfectly!"

Harry stared down at complex tables of strange symbols, some of which he vaguely remembered from school. "I... I don't understand."

Hermione's face was lit up in a sort of frenzy of glee. "Don't you see? They weren't 'trying' to do anything. It was 'trine,' Harry. That's what you've been getting from them."

"Trine?"

"The symbol isn't a number four. It's the astrological sign for Jupiter. Didn't you pay any attention in Trelawney's class?"

"That's rich, coming from you." Harry couldn't help shaking his head. "You thought the whole of Divination was a bunch of hogwash."

Hermione suddenly became a bit defensive. "It _is_ a bunch of hogwash. But that doesn't mean other people don't believe in it. Look." She pointed at the tables in the giant book. "On the sixth of May this year, Jupiter was trine Saturn." Realizing he wasn't following, she turned over a piece of paper and drew a small diagram of the solar system. "Trine is an astrological relationship that occurs when celestial bodies make a perfect triangle together. Traditionally, trine relations are considered sympathetic, combining the supposed forces of the celestial bodies in question. The four murder dates line up exactly with Jupiter's trine with Saturn twice this year, and twice with Uranus last year!"

"So these Death Eaters are obsessed with astrology?"

Hermione was now leafing through her book again. "It's more than that. When were the victims born?"

"They're all different ages."

"No, the days of the year. When were their _birthdays_?"

Again, Harry shuffled through the reports. "We're not sure about the first one. But the others were all born in November and December."

"Scorpio and Sagittarius. Of course!"

"Of course!" Harry echoed mechanically, in a half-mocking tone. "Hermione, what the bloody hell is going on? You're not making any sense."

Hermione paused and took a deep breath. "Okay, so what do you know about magical resonance?"

"Nothing. I've never heard of it."

"That's not surprising. There were a few healers at St. Mungo's working on theories about it, because it's starting to become useful for medical purposes. But most wizards hold to the old superstitious traditions." She thought she'd try a different tack. "You know how people say that wands choose their masters?"

"Yes." Harry was nodding, trying to follow.

"Well, that's not really accurate. In fact, a wand is a sort of conduit that focuses magical energy. Wizards can perform wandless magic with practice, after all. The wand doesn't choose a master: it just needs to be attuned to the magical energy characteristics of the wielder. It's a bit like placing a tuning fork on a string. If the vibrations of the tuning fork line up with the way the string likes to vibrate, we say the string resonates. The small vibrations of the fork are magnified and the energy is focused."

Harry suddenly had a flash of insight. "Oh! So, it's kind of like that building in _Ghostbusters_ , absorbing and focusing mystical energy." He was grinning broadly.

Hermione sighed. "Actually, yes, I suppose. Once again, though, that movie is _not_ a documentary." She continued, "Anyhow, if the wand's magical energies vibrate along with the user, the energy is properly focused. If there's a mismatch, no magic may result at all, or it may just be unpredictable in its results."

"Okay. But what does this have to do with the murders?"

Hermione's eyes were closed as she was sorting out the details. The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward; Harry knew she was enjoying working this out immensely. "Now, suppose that rather than using a wand to focus your magical energy, you used the energy of another wizard."

"Huh?" Harry was completely confused. "Is that possible?"

"Theoretically. The thing is, wands have no magical energy of their own. If you instead focused your energy through another wizard, the power of the energies could combine and create a sort of feedback loop, grossly magnifying the effect. The resonance would be unpredictable, but the power produced could be terrifying in its impact."

"These Death Eaters used this power to kill other wizards?"

"No, Harry – the dead wizards _were_ the conduits. It's like the way that the wood used for wands often correlates well to the time of year that the wielder was born. The wizards must have been chosen because their births aligned with the Zodiac constellations where Jupiter has been these past two years."

"So, we have a new Zodiac killer?"

Hermione now had to roll her eyes. "Clever. But you've been watching too many movies. This is something much more sophisticated. You see, Jupiter is the most powerful planet, often associated with strong magical energy. On days when Jupiter was in formation with the other largest planets in the solar system, the energies could theoretically combine and produce an unusual resonance in these wizards." She paused, considering the ramifications of what she was saying. "Harry, these victims weren't killed by pulling the magical energy from them, and they weren't struck by lightning. Their magic was blown clear out of them after it overloaded their bodies."

" _Overloaded_?" Harry swallowed slowly. "Wouldn't something of... that magnitude have left behind some magical remnant, something we could trace?"

"I don't know, Harry. Whoever did this was trying to tap into primordial energies of the universe. This is more than normal magic. It's like messing around with the forces of gravity or magnetism and making them bend to your will."

Harry was now deeply concerned. He was disturbed enough to know that people could be drained of their magical energy, but he had never imagined such dark powers could be at work. "Why would anyone do this? _How_ could they do it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Again, I really don't know. I don't think anyone has attempted anything like this before. Wizards experience very tiny fluctuations in their power according to planetary alignments, but I've never heard of anyone trying to magnify the effects like this. Unless..."

"What?"

"The Elder Wand, Harry. No one really knows how it works, but it's not like a normal wand. It doesn't merely focus the energy of its user; it draws additional energy – _somehow_ , from _somewhere_. Maybe these dark wizards are trying to recreate an effect like the Elder Wand by tapping into celestial energies. Cosmic energy would be a nearly limitless resource."

Harry jumped up from his seat and started pacing. "They're trying to make another Elder Wand! Maybe more than one? Could you imagine what kind of damage they could do with that?! What kind of fear that could spread?"

Hermione, however, was perfectly calm. She reached up to grab his hand and pulled him back down to sit next to her again. "It won't work, Harry. It can't. At least not the way they're trying to do it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Remember what I said when we started this whole conversation? Astrology is, frankly, a bunch of bullshit. If so many wizards weren't stuck in the Dark Ages, they'd realize that. The constellations don't even line up with the dates they're supposedly assigned to. And while the planets do have gravitational and magnetic forces, they're so incredibly weak compared to things like the effects of the sun and moon that they basically do nothing. Certainly nothing that could influence people's fate or provide enough energy to power an Elder Wand."

"But those forces killed people!"

"And they probably produced a fireball big enough to scorch a small patch of ground. Many normal wizards can summon that sort of energy without any great effort," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

Harry was frustrated. They seemed to be talking in circles. "Let me see if I can understand this. A bunch of Death Eaters come up with a convoluted plan to take over the planet by tapping into primordial energies of the universe, so they end up committing ritualistic murders on specific dates predicted exactly by your giant book of arcane tables. But they're all actually a bunch of morons whose complex evil scheme couldn't possibly work."

Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, if they could actually figure out a way to draw on this energy beyond the small amounts from astrological convergences, maybe they could do something. But it's clear they're following typical ancient Divination lore, which is mostly a bunch of nonsense."

Harry started to chuckle, then laugh outright. "I can't believe you're so nonchalant about all of this. You apparently just solved our murders _and_ proved that the current Death Eater cult is a bunch of idiots. All because the sign of four was stamped on someone's forehead. It's like working with bloody Sherlock Holmes."

Hermione had now tucked her feet back up onto the sofa and was sipping her wine again. "Well, Sherlock would have been little help here. You know he doesn't even remember that the earth goes around the sun? Now if you had to identify some obscure cigar ash, he's your man." Hermione smirked.

Harry was shaking his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable."

"Anyhow..." She gestured to the enormous tome again. "The twenty-first of January in 2008 is the next convergence of this sort. Unlike Trelawney's predictions, I think I can accurately divine that Death Eaters will plan to meet again on that date. You could set a trap for them. I'll bet there are even more patterns to these rituals." She yawned and stretched her arms, before leaning up against Harry once more. "Any more magical murder mysteries to solve tonight?"

Harry grabbed his glass and put up his feet on the table, once again wrapping an arm around her. He smiled. "Nope, I'm all out."

She yawned again. "Harry?"

"Yeah."

"I'm so glad everything worked out this way today. Playing with the kids all together, working through this case... a few hours ago I was imagining just a quiet evening alone with Rose." She turned her head and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thanks for coming over."

Harry felt warmth come over his entire body as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. As they relaxed together, he couldn't help thinking: w _hat a perfect evening._

* * *

A couple of hours later, the front door opened slowly. Ron staggered in and closed the door quietly behind him. He and Ginny had met up with some of her old Quidditch friends after the match and had consumed a good amount of alcohol. Ginny was dead tired and had gone straight home, figuring that wherever Harry and the kids had ended up, they'd sort it out in the morning.

Ron took a few more steps and halted in his tracks, taking in the tableau in front of him. A soft light was still on in the living room. Hermione was snuggled up against Harry, her head now fallen into his lap. They were both fast asleep, looking as they sometimes did in the Gryffindor common room so many years ago. But that was not what drew Ron's attention, as he glanced over the remnants of the evening. Aside from a couple empty wine glasses and a half-consumed bottle, the table was piled with an enormous old book of astrological charts, a hand-drawn diagram of the solar system with strange geometric symbols, and photos of dead bodies strewn everywhere.

"Bloody hell."

Hermione stirred at his utterance. Her eyes flickered open and she sat up to see Ron glaring at her.

"I leave you two alone for a few hours on a weekend, and _this_ is what you do? I sometimes think you are completely barmy." He picked up some of the photos and then tossed them back on the table.

"Ron – we... I was helping Harry out with a case. We must have just drifted off to sleep while waiting for you."

Ron was shaking his head. "You two are _not_ normal, you know. Normal people don't do... whatever _this_ is on a Saturday night." He turned and headed toward the stairs, muttering, "And she thinks I'm strange for wanting to show some of the occasional sane moments of our family life to people. _This is not normal_."

Hermione sighed, as she gathered the reports and photos together. She didn't want the boys happening upon them in the morning. Then she looked over at Harry, still sleeping soundly. She rarely saw him so at peace. Leaning over, she took off his glasses, and gently tried to maneuver him down to lie on the sofa. He eventually curled up his legs without opening his eyes. She pulled a light blanket over him and kissed him softly on the forehead. "Goodnight, Harry," she whispered, before heading up the stairs.

Harry stirred ever so slightly, a wave of absolute contentment passing through him, before falling back into his most restful sleep in years.

* * *

 **Footnote:** July 21, 2007 was the release date of the final novel, _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Among other things, the book obviously became immediately infamous for its seemingly unnecessary epilogue and the implicit predictions about how the lives of the main characters would turn out. But Divination is an inexact science at best, and predictions aren't always what they first appear to be.


	6. Ch 5: Revelations - 19 Oct 2007

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to all who have read and reviewed so far. For those who are eager to discover what actually happened to poor Harry and Hermione after the Prologue, the next chapter will finally provide some (partial) answers. Unfortunately, they have some difficult situations to get through first.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Revelations**

 _October 19, 2007_

Applause erupted in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, as the Headmistress ascended to the lectern.

"Thank you all for coming this evening. I would like to extend a welcome to all of our distinguished guests, including Minister Shacklebolt." Minerva McGonagall nodded to the Minister off to her right, as there was a second wave of applause. "And a welcome to all reporters and other members of the press; we are happy to have you at Hogwarts to celebrate with us." Several flash bulbs went off, as the Headmistress continued. "But most importantly, I welcome back all of our most eminent and distinguished Hogwarts alumni and alumnae. I hope you've enjoyed the dinner and had a chance to tour the grounds and to reminisce earlier. We also hope your children and grandchildren have enjoyed a taste of their future time here!"

A loud round of applause followed again, with several shouts and cheers going out. Hermione looked across the Gryffindor table to Harry, who was smiling with little Albus sitting on his lap and James in the seat beside him. Both boys were doing their best to keep up with the clapping. They were a little young for this event, but McGonagall had insisted that Harry and Ginny bring them as a symbol of continuity. Hermione and Ron had decided to leave Rose with her grandmother, though. Molly Weasley really couldn't really bear to attend anyway; she didn't want to spend her time noting the absent faces from the War.

McGonagall was speaking again. "And now, I'd like to turn the podium over to Annina Brandel, our new Director of Development at Hogwarts, recently arrived from the Koldovstoretz School. She has several important announcements to make."

As a somewhat less enthusiastic wave of applause began, Ron leaned over to Hermione. "Who's this, then?"

"She's the new person in charge of fundraising. She probably organized this dinner."

A small dark-haired woman walked to the lectern. Her slight Bulgarian accent came through as she started to address the crowd. "Thank you, Headmistress, and thank you all for coming today. I have a few matters to address..."

Harry handed off Albus to Ginny and leaned across the table toward Hermione. He whispered, "Who is _she_?"

Hermione kicked his knee. "Harry! Honestly, are none of you paying any attention? We're seated at the head of the table. We can't talk right now."

"She's here to beg for our money," Ron whispered, as Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!"

Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Ron. Ginny sighed and shook her head.

The Development Director spoke for a few minutes about various initiatives. "And finally, I have an announcement concerning a new scholarship opportunity that will be offered, beginning next academic year. As you know, Hogwarts values diversity of all kinds. And as it has been over ten years since the unfortunate death of the beloved Headmaster Dumbledore, the Headmistress and the rest of the faculty decided it was time to create an award in his name. This scholarship will provide full tuition, room and board, and a stipend for books and other expenses to qualifying students. It is my pleasure and honor, therefore, to announce the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Scholarship for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer Wizards."

"Well, that's a mouthful," said Ron. Hermione elbowed him in the side again.

About half of the audience began to applaud, but murmurs and gasps erupted from other members of the crowd. Several hisses arose from the Slytherin table, as numerous flashbulbs started going off in the press section. Hermione noticed that Harry was agitated, shifting in his seat.

The woman at the lectern was somewhat taken aback by this response. "Obviously Professor Dumbledore led a somewhat private life, but we – the Hogwarts faculty and staff – thought it was important to recognize the achievements of such a prominent gay wizard..." At this point, the reporters present started frantically scribbling down notes. "... and we want to again emphasize diversity of all kinds at Hogwarts." She began clapping herself, and most of the audience now joined.

More hisses and several shouts from Slytherin interrupted, though. "What achievements?" came a voice from the back. "Dying in office!" shouted another. A third voice yelled out, "We always knew he was a queer duck, just not quite _so_ queer!" This was met with applause from some of the surrounding Slytherin alumni.

Hermione again glanced across at Harry, who was positively seething in anger.

The Headmistress was at the lectern again. "Ladies and Gentleman, please! I suppose some of you may have been unaware of our late Headmaster's..." She paused, finding herself unusually lost for words. "...ah... orientation. But I'm sure that all who knew him well will appreciate this new honor."

Yet another voice arose from Slytherin. "Yes, a great honor to pay for male prostitutes, catamites, and other fa-"

At this point Harry leapt from his seat and bellowed in the direction of the Slytherin table, "Shut your mouths! He was a great man! You didn't deserve him!" Silence fell immediately, and all eyes were on Harry. Not knowing what else to say, he bolted toward the doors at the back of the hall.

Flashbulbs again went off, and a new wave of murmurs began. Ginny and Hermione stood up together, then looked at each other. Ginny sighed and said, "You go. Someone needs to stay here with the boys." Hermione touched Ron on the shoulder before she walked out.

* * *

Harry was nowhere to be seen in the castle, so Hermione wandered outside into the twilight. She pulled her robe close around her, surprised by the coolness of the autumn air. Several minutes later, she found him seated in the grass by the shore of the lake. The sky was clear and the first quarter moon was near its zenith, a soft glow reflecting off the waters. She sat down beside him.

They stared in silence at the lake for a minute. Hermione knew she wouldn't get him to talk before he wanted to. Instead, she tried a new topic. "Any news on the Death Eater mystery?"

"No," he replied laconically. They sat for another minute before he continued. "It's the same as what I told you last month. Your information was enough to surprise one of our inmates, so we finally got him to talk. We captured three others who were directly involved in the rituals, but we assume the leader behind it all is still at large. In any case, from the interrogations, it seems clear that they realized it wasn't working. I doubt we'll see the exact kind of ritual again soon."

Several minutes passed. A flock of birds flew across the lake, preparing to land for the night. Hermione finally moved closer until she was nearly leaning on him. She took one of his hands, intertwining her fingers with his.

He looked down at their joined hands. "I just don't understand why they needed to do this to him. I mean, of course we all knew he was probably gay. Or, I assumed everyone knew. And no one cared. At least, I didn't think it would make a difference one way or the other." He sighed heavily. "Now it's just going to be more fodder for the papers in the morning."

Hermione leaned in closer to him, placing her head on his shoulder. The warmth of their contact helped to stave off the chill from the nighttime air. "I don't quite know what to say about it, either. It's great to have more scholarships for students, but I didn't think it would cause such a reaction."

"Do you ever just wish back for the days when we were first at Hogwarts, when we didn't need to worry about what might appear in the papers tomorrow?"

Hermione chuckled softly. "You mean when there was something or someone trying to kill us a few times every year?"

Harry laughed lightly too, finally relaxing a bit. "I just mean that some days it feels like our lives are dictated by what might get attention in the media, rather than what really matters. First we did this silly film thing with Ron to showcase our 'normal' Potter family. And now, the press is going to be writing about Dumbledore for a week, until they give up and move on to the next ephemeral news story."

Hermione sighed. "Unfortunately, I think you're right. I'm sure that's partly what tonight was about. I don't think McGonagall wanted this sort of event, but Hogwarts is perceived as an old-fashioned school now. I'm sure this scholarship was the idea of the new Development Director to make them look more 'progressive' and to attract more students. There are still bills to pay, and I think it's going to become harder to convince Muggle families to send their magical kids here in the future. Hogwarts and its magic eventually won't be a draw anymore." She paused to look up at the moon, now seemingly brighter as the twilight faded. "I mean, kids these days are more likely to want to pretend to be vampires."

Harry finally turned and looked at her, utterly confused. "Vampires? Why on earth would Muggles be interested in vampires?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. Something about angst. It seems to be what all the teens are into now."

Harry looked out across the lake again. "I think we had about enough damn angst when we were teenagers. How many of our friends died? How many loved ones...?" A single tear slipped down his cheek. "He deserved better than another stupid scandal."

Footsteps rustled through the bushes behind them.

"Well, if it isn't Potter and his Mudblood. A bit weepy over the old queer bugger, are we? Dredging up some old scars?"

Harry and Hermione didn't even bother to turn around. "Sod off, Malfoy. I'm _really_ not in the mood," said Harry in annoyance.

"Isn't this a pretty picture, though? Potter and his bitch, swooning together under the moon by the lake. You could sell this one to the papers, you know. I bet people would even put it on postcards and owl it to their families overseas."

Hermione couldn't deal with the insults. She stood up and faced him, noticing Goyle standing off to the side. "What are you, drunk? I can smell the alcohol over here."

"I may have had a few," Draco muttered, his speech obviously slurred a bit. "What of it? What d'ya say, Potter? How 'bout a duel for old times' sake?"

"I'll say it again: sod off, Malfoy. You don't want to bother me right now." Harry was still sitting and looking away, but obviously becoming agitated. "I don't even know why McGonagall invited the lot at your table."

"Well, many of us still do have some cash." Draco turned and looked at Goyle, then back at Hermione. "If you're not game, Potter, maybe I'll just have a go at your girl, then." He pulled out his wand, and Hermione immediately did the same.

But Harry was on his feet in an instant, his wand drawn as well. "Stay away from her!"

"Harry, honestly, I can take care of myself against this drunken hooligan." Hermione was poised to attack.

Harry took a few steps toward Draco. "That doesn't matter. He needs to stand down. Lower your wand. Now."

Hermione could hear Harry's voice switch to the tone of an auror. He was calm again; this wasn't personal. Harry was handling Draco like any other drunken and disorderly wizard he might encounter.

"I said _now_ , Malfoy!"

"I'm just having a bit of fun." Draco was now waving his wand around haphazardly, though it was still pointed in the general direction of Hermione.

"I warned you twice. _Expelliarmus!_ " A burst of red light flamed forth in the night sky. Draco was blown backward several yards, sliding into the trunk of a small tree.

"Holy hell, Potter!" exclaimed Goyle. "I don't want any part of this." He ran off into the growing darkness.

Harry grabbed Draco's wand from the ground, then started toward him. Something clinked softly under his step; he bent down and picked up a pair of handcuffs, staring at them for a moment. "Malfoy, I always suspected you were into some kinky shit, but this? Really?"

"Give those back, Potter!"

"Okay, as you wish." Harry walked over, slapped one cuff around Draco's left hand and the other around a lower tree limb. "This is actually kind of convenient. You just sit there and cool off your drunken arse for a while." Harry started to walk back toward Hermione.

"I don't think you understand, Potter. You never understood."

Harry reeled back around. "What I don't understand is how I saved your sorry arse from dying years ago, and yet you show up here, get pissed, insult us, and threaten us. Don't you have a wife you should go home to?"

Hermione was walking toward them. "He's not worth it. Let's just get some help and let him sleep it off."

Draco ignored her. "Don't you see? That's the problem, Potter. I've been branded as a do-gooder like you among the dark wizards, because you got me off."

Harry's tone became mocking. "Aww, the Pureblood boy with the big mansion has no evil friends now?"

"See, I can't win. You lot treat me as a pariah too, even Miss Equality-for-All over there."

"Leave her out of this. I have no patience for this shit, Malfoy."

"Fuck you, Potter. Then maybe it's time I take a side again! How much do you think the dark wizards will thank me if I killed off Harry Potter, once and for all?" Without warning, Draco reached inside his robe and pulled out a pistol, aiming it at Harry.

"Malfoy? A gun? What the fuck are you do-?"

Three gunshots rang out in the darkness. Hermione screamed. Harry took a step back and fell slowly to the ground.

A moment later, Hermione's voice shouted out, " _Expelliarmus!_ " The gun flew from Draco's hand. Hermione ran over and grabbed it. "Draco! I cannot even..." She stopped for a fraction of a second to give him a swift kick in the stomach before running toward Harry.

Draco wasn't finished, though. "Ooh, I didn't know you had it in you. I do like it rough. How 'bout another go?"

"You are disgusting!" Hermione pointed her wand at him once again. " _Langlock!_ " Draco's tongue now gagged him, and after a few grunts, he leaned back against the tree truck and gave up.

She found Harry lying in the grass, blood gushing from his side. "Hermione?" he called out.

"Oh my god, Harry." Thankfully, given Draco's drunken state, it appeared only one bullet had hit its target. She turned Harry on his other side and began trying to pull away bits of his torn robe from the wound. " _Diffindo!_ " The robe and shirt beneath ripped apart, as she immediately began tracing her wand over the wound. " _Vulnera sanentur. Vulnera sanentur. Vulnera sanentur._ " The bloodflow slowed, then stopped completely as the skin began to heal. She cast several other healing spells, but she knew this wouldn't be enough. The bullet was still inside of him, and it might have punctured a lung. He might still be bleeding internally. She couldn't do more in the darkness.

"Hermione?" He sputtered, coughing up a bit of blood.

"You're going to be all right. But we need to get you to Madame Pomfrey."

"Hermione, I... I need you to know. I love you." His eyes were brimming with tears.

"I love you too, Harry. You're going to be okay." She was struggling to hold herself together.

"No, you saved me. You always do. You always will." With all of his strength, he threw his arms around her, for the first time forgetting all the boundaries on his affection. He _needed_ her to know.

Hermione held him tightly and suddenly felt lightheaded herself. Her head throbbed. She could feel his heart beating as rapidly as her own, like they were almost merging into a single rhythm. And then, like a brick striking her in the chest, she felt a wave of emotion rush over her. Her memory flashed as hundreds of images came to her in an instant. The day she first met Harry on the train, the day he saved her from the troll, the day she ran to him and hugged him after she had been petrified, and so many more. And then there were other memories that felt distant yet newly familiar: when she had felt a slight twinge of jealousy toward Cho and Ginny, or that moment at Bill and Fleur's wedding when she turned to Harry and perhaps first realized she couldn't imagine her life without him always being a part of it. But ultimately in her mind she was holding his hand a thousand times, hugging him close, feeling utterly at peace.

"Hey! What's going on with you guys? We heard some noises." Ron's voice called out from a few dozen yards away.

Hermione pulled away from their embrace, unsure what just happened to her, other than that her desire to save Harry had grown ten times stronger. He was now drifting in and out of consciousness. _We need help, now._ She looked over at Ron, his wand alight, walking with Ginny and the boys beside him. "Ron! We need help! Keep the children back there. Keep them back!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Ron was now at a full run. "What's happened?" he called. A few seconds later, he arrived, then saw Hermione, her robe slick with blood. "Oh my god. Are you...?"

"I'm fine. We need to get Harry to the infirmary right now. Draco was drunk and shot him."

Ron couldn't comprehend what was going on. "What do you mean? Malfoy shot him _with what_?"

"A fucking gun, Ron! A gun!" Her arm flailed out to point at the pistol where she had dropped it in the grass before tending to Harry.

"Bloody hell!"

* * *

Two hours later, Harry was sedated in the infirmary. Ron and Hermione had levitated Harry gently to the hospital wing. There, Madame Pomfrey, with Hermione assisting, had successfully completed the delicate procedure, removing the bullet and repairing Harry's lung, along with a shattered rib and a major blood vessel that the bullet has grazed. It would take a few days to heal completely, since they had to reopen the wound to repair the internal damage.

Ron had taken the boys to stay with their grandparents for the night. Several aurors among the Hogwarts alumni that evening had helped detain Draco and escorted him to London for questioning, though none dared to release Hermione's gagging spell until he was off the premises.

Hermione and Ginny were seated on opposite sides of Harry's bed, keeping watch over him.

It was Hermione who first broke the silence, not looking up from Harry. "You know, you can go get some rest if you'd like. I'm sure the boys are pretty freaked out by this all."

"I was about to say something similar," replied Ginny. "I can stay with him. Ron will need help, with Rose and all."

"I can't leave him, Ginny. Not like this."

Ginny now looked over at Hermione. "You said he was stable. There's nothing more to be done for him tonight, right?"

"I know, but if you'd seen him... There was..." She fought back tears. "... so much blood."

Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry. I know it must have been terrifying. But you did what needed to be done. He's going to be okay. Pomfrey's here, and I can look after him."

Hermione was becoming frustrated. "Can we not do this right now?"

"Do _what_?" Ginny's tone was no longer friendly.

"I just need to be sure he's all right. You need to make sure his children are okay."

"Hermione, I happen to be his _wife_."

"And I happen to be his..." Hermione suddenly realized the conversation this was mimicking, a conversation which had happened in this very room, with the two of them seated around this very bed.

"What, Hermione? Tell me. What are you? Why do _you_ need to stay with him more than his _wife_?"

Hermione couldn't hold it in any longer. She had been composed throughout the surgery with Pomfrey, but now tears welled up again and streamed down her face. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I didn't mean anything like that. I don't know what's wrong with me. Tonight, it just..." She didn't know how to describe it. She couldn't explain it to herself, and she didn't even know whether she could tell Ginny about what happened by the lake when Harry embraced her. "... The thought of him dying... I just can't..." Her voice trailed off in sobs.

Ginny grimaced a bit, but got up and walked over to her, pulling her up to hug her. "He's okay. _You_ were there. And it's a miracle you were, with your training."

Hermione had finally calmed a bit, her breathing slowing down. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"It must have been quite a shock." Ginny pulled away and looked seriously at Hermione. "I'll tell you what: you're right, I should check on the boys. They need to know he's okay, and that I'm fine too. I'll make sure they get to sleep safely. I'll be back in a couple hours, and then you can head home with Ron. Okay?"

Hermione nodded, now feeling embarrassed at her emotional outburst.

The tension of the previous moment passed, and Ginny looked at her with legitimate concern now. "He's going to be fine. You said so yourself." She squeezed Hermione's shoulder, before bending down and kissing Harry on the forehead. She then made her way to the door, leaving Hermione alone with Harry and her thoughts.

Hermione sat back down beside the bed, taking his hand in hers. She stared at his face, no longer the boy she remembered periodically visiting in the hospital bed here so many years ago. He had grown much more handsome over the years, hadn't he? And years of auror training had filled out his physique, so he wasn't the somewhat lanky teenager of her memories either. Of course, he _was_ Harry Potter, and girls had always wanted to be with him, but she marveled at his features for a few minutes. Her mind flashed back to his words as he lay in the grass by the lake: _Hermione, I need you to know. I love you._

At the time, she heard it as the friendly expression of love they had always felt, but now it sounded different in her memory. He was severely injured, and the only thing he thought to do was declare his love to her? He wasn't thinking of Ginny or the boys – he was thinking of her. Of course, she was there, and he _had_ lost a lot of blood, but still. Combined with that strange overwhelming set of emotions during their embrace... _what does it all mean?_

Ginny's words now came back to her as well: _What are you?_

What _was_ she to him? How exactly had she planned to complete that sentence?

Harry began to stir on the bed. She gripped his hand tightly; he shouldn't really be waking up yet, given the magical sedative they gave him. His eyes were still closed, but he began to murmur softly, at first indistinctly. She leaned forward a bit, wondering whether she should call Madame Pomfrey to give him another dose.

"Hmm... Hmm... 'Mione... Hermione..."

"I'm here, Harry. You're fine." She bent over him and kissed his forehead, and that settled him immediately.

Her name came from his lips once more with a sigh of relief, and then he was completely still and peaceful again.

Only then did she realize the echo of Ron's unconscious utterance over a decade ago, and the conflict that had followed. Hermione was grateful Ginny hadn't been there just now.

She sighed, again staring at Harry's face. _When did we become this close?_ She knew they were best friends, had seemingly always been best friends. But were they "dying declaration of love" friends? _What does that even mean?_

His voice came back to her, unbidden: _Hermione, I need you to know. I love you._

And then she felt the strongest urge to embrace him right there and hold him as tightly as she could. Of course given his injuries, she couldn't do that. But the yearning was so powerful and new.

Barely thinking, she leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Harry, I need you to know, too. I love you." She hovered in that position for a minute, breathing in his scent, hearing his soft breath in her ear.

"Is he all right?" A voice called out to her.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. She leapt up and turned quickly to face Ron, who had just come through the door to the hospital wing. _What was I doing? What the hell is going on?_ She jerked her hand away from Harry's and stammered, "He's, uh... he's fine, Ron. Madame Pomfrey and I removed the bullet, and he'll be healed in a couple days."

Ron walked up to her and put his hands on her upper arms. "Are you okay? Ginny said you were awfully shaken up."

She couldn't meet his eyes. Her emotions were in complete turmoil. "I... I was just really upset earlier. I don't know what came over me."

Ron pulled her into his arms, and she relaxed a bit. "It's understandable. I mean, I can't imagine what I'd have done if I had been there with Malfoy. You saved him."

Harry's other words suddenly echoed in her mind: _You saved me. You always do. You always will._ She pulled away from Ron abruptly and started to walk toward the door, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Listen, Ron. I'm going to go see Rose, okay?" She tried desperately to keep her voice steady. "He's stable, and Pomfrey is on call. Can you stay with him until Ginny gets back?"

"Uh, sure." Ron scratched his head. "Are you sure you're all right?"

She couldn't face Ron. Not right now. "I'm going to be. Just give me a little time." And then in a moment, she was gone.

* * *

 **Footnote:** October 19, 2007 was the date of the Carnegie Hall interview with JKR when she revealed that Dumbledore was gay. It was one of the first of many high-profile revelations from JKR after the completion of the novels.


	7. Ch 6: Casablanca - 11 Nov 2010

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** Over half of this chapter was drafted before I realized that the date of the real-world inspirational event for it had occurred on November 11. Given the central role of what happens here, I couldn't alter the date. But I never intended to co-opt Remembrance Day for a fanfic pun, which I would view as in poor taste. Within the chapter context, I then had to acknowledge it briefly, even if it was complete coincidence. (All _other_ terrible puns are likely intentional.)

* * *

 **Casablanca**

 _November 11, 2010_

Hermione was running late. Her meeting with the Minister had gone on far longer than she expected, as he seemed intrigued by her ideas to reform the wizard bloodline laws. She thought it was far overdue, but she never dreamed of bringing it up with anyone at the Ministry yet, let alone Shacklebolt himself. She had just assumed they were so deeply entrenched in wizard law that it would take decades to change them. But the Minister had surprised her during their meeting on house-elf rights by making an unexpected analogy and posing a question about the legal rights distinctions created for Purebloods. What he obviously didn't realize was that she could give him a spontaneous two-hour presentation on that very topic.

But now that was behind her, and she was panicked to get ready for her dinner. _Why did Harry have to choose a Muggle restaurant for tonight_? Otherwise, she could have just shown up in her work clothes. She had flung her robes off carelessly and grabbed the first clean and pressed dress she could find. It was perhaps a little too formal, but she shrugged and hurried to make her hair at least look somewhat sensible. _It needs something else_ , she thought quickly, a smile coming to her as she remembered a piece of jewelry and quickly pulled it from its prominent place on her chest of drawers.

"You look nice." Ron had drifted into the bedroom, little Hugo in tow.

"It was, honestly, the first thing I could find. It's not too much, is it?"

"It's lovely, if a bit of a waste on Harry," Ron chuckled.

"Rose? Rose?" she called. A little girl ran into the room. "Come say goodnight to Mummy. I'm going to see Uncle Harry. I'll be back to see you all later." She quickly hugged the kids and blew a kiss to Ron before apparating.

"Daddy? Can we read a story?" Rose looked up expectantly.

"Sure, my princess," he answered sweetly. If truth be told, Ron was more than happy to give Hermione a night out. The two of them had never had it easy, but the birth of Hugo a couple years back had been both a blessing and a curse for their relationship. Obviously they loved their son dearly, but he was a difficult baby, and neither Ron nor Hermione slept well for nearly a year. Harry always seemed to be a stabilizing force when they had fought, comforting each of them in turn.

Ron also knew that Hermione was looking forward to their upcoming vacation in Paris, away from the kids. She had even booked them on an airline flight, claiming that it felt more romantic to her to travel in an old-fashioned Muggle manner. Ron had given in, though his stomach felt a bit queasy as he thought about it. He let her make most of the plans, hoping that if she enjoyed herself, the two of them might have time to reinvigorate their relationship. And although he didn't consciously plan it, Ron assumed they had a much better chance of avoiding conflict if Harry lightened her mood before they left.

* * *

Hermione apparated just inside a Ministry building several blocks from the restaurant; she'd have to walk the rest of the way. Reflecting on the scene before she left, she had to admit: Ron was such a great father to them, even if he could be a bit daft and forgetful sometimes.

Walking briskly, she dodged the few pedestrians out that night. Part of her was strangely eager to see Harry. Aside from brief random encounters at the Ministry, they hadn't really spent time together in a couple of months, despite being back on good terms again. Not that there had ever been a true rift of any sort. But after that fateful night at Hogwarts a few years ago, they had drifted apart. Frankly, she was a little afraid to be near him at first. The energy and overwhelming emotions that had burst forth in their embrace paradoxically seemed to repel them from each other, making them both entrench around their families. They had never discussed it, and Hermione came to assume Harry's abrupt declaration of love had been a symptom of his injured state. They spent nearly a year barely speaking aside from family holidays with the Weasleys, a fact she now regretted.

But after she had become pregnant with Hugo, Harry couldn't help checking in on her again, first weekly, and then seemingly daily at work. They grew close once more, not afraid to absentmindedly hold hands or lean in to each other. She had always loved that contact with him, that comfort. And now it seemed even more precious to her than ever before. For nearly a year now, the two had a regular weekly lunch date, which she always looked forward to. Occasionally, one or the other would have to cancel, but the past couple of months had been busy for them both. In one of his more perceptive moments, it was actually Ron who finally suggested that the two of them should have a dinner out. She was elated when Harry immediately answered her owl with an address for tonight.

 _Casablanca, though?_ She mused, smiling to herself. It was a bit of an exotic name. Why had Harry chosen it? Glancing at a clock on the street, she picked up her pace, nearly skipping toward her dinner date.

* * *

The restaurant was a bit quiet for a Thursday, Harry thought. Maybe it had to with the dynamics around Remembrance Day. Many of the older men in the restaurant were wearing poppies, and Harry felt a bit naked without one. He was certainly no expert on Muggle wars, but he had lived through enough himself to understand the need to remember fallen comrades. They had lost so many friends, so many casualties to the War.

Regardless of his sombre internal reflections, he thought the band was good tonight. He liked the live music they often had, generally older soft jazz. And most of all, it felt nice to be anonymous sometimes, outside of the prying eyes of the wizarding world. Had he really been coming to this restaurant for five years? Every month or so when a break from both family and work managed to coincide, he'd come and sit at the bar for an hour or two, sometimes ordering a light meal.

This was perhaps only the third time he actually sat at a table, and the manager was treating him like it was a special occasion. On second thought, he had to admit he wasn't anonymous here. Over the years, he had come to know many members of the staff, and that made his time here even better. He was just a random guy who showed up occasionally, not the Boy Who Lived.

The band was just coming back from a short break. Two members stopped by at Harry's table. "Harry? So good to see you," said drummer Dooley Wilson, shaking his hand firmly.

"Great to see you guys." Harry smiled broadly.

Samuel Blaine, the bandleader and pianist, was next to shake his hand, also bending down to give him a clap around the shoulder. "Not at the bar tonight, Harry? This has to be a first."

"What? Can't I sit at a table if I want?" Harry joked. They all shared a laugh. He had spent many a night chatting with these guys at the bar during their set breaks. Harry had never learned much about music and had certainly never played an instrument, but he loved the way they talked about performing it. They had their standard pieces, which they all knew, but each time was always a little different. They often described it as a wordless conversation, where an unexpected drum hit might lead to a few chords in reply from the piano. And when the band was playing well, it was like they could almost read each other's minds, responding without thinking consciously. Dooley called it "being on the same wavelength."

"So, is the missus joining you tonight, Harry?" the drummer inquired.

"No, it's... well, she's an old friend." The two band members smiled at each other. Harry quickly shook his head. "No, not like that. We basically grew up together. Usually we have lunch at work, but our schedules have been off lately, so we're getting dinner together tonight." Harry smiled warmly. "Thought I'd introduce her to your music."

"Well, any friend of yours is always welcome here," Sam replied. "But now we have to get back to play. See you later, Harry."

Harry settled back in his seat, sipping a glass of red wine, as the band began a rendition of "Mood Indigo." He couldn't help glancing at the door every few seconds, nervous energy making him fidget.

And suddenly she was there, confused and asking the manager for directions. Harry stood up and waved her over. They hugged deeply.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I had a meeting with Kingsley and..."

"Don't even worry about it. I've been enjoying myself here."

"I've missed you." She finally pulled away, taking his hands in hers. "How are you?"

Before Harry could answer, a waiter interrupted. "Madame, may I take your coat?"

"Oh, of course." She wriggled out of her overcoat. Harry's mouth dropped open a bit. She frowned. "Is this too much? Sorry, I was in a hurry, and this was convenient."

"No, Hermione. You look, well... _fantastic_." The deep blue dress went down to mid-calf, but was tailored enough to accentuate her curves in all the right places. The color complemented her hair and creamy skin perfectly. A thin white gold chain with a birthstone pendant adorned her neck, a birthday present from Harry last year.

She smirked a bit at his odd reaction. "Don't get any ideas, Potter."

"Sorry." He smirked back. "It's just rare I see you outside of wizarding robes these days. Seriously, you look really nice." He helped her into her seat, then moved back to his own.

"Why thank you, Harry." The smirk turned into a legitimate smile. "It's rare I get to go out, with the kids and all. And I wasn't sure how formal this place was." She looked around. The decor was somewhat old-fashioned for a Muggle restaurant, but felt fresh and exciting to her. Patrons were happily chatting at the bar, and a smattering of mostly middle-aged and older couples were around them at the smaller tables, many watching the band intently. "It is terrific. How did you choose it?"

"I've actually been coming here for years, generally just for a drink. Ginny hated it when I brought her once. She just didn't get it, you know?"

"Muggle culture has always been a little mystifying to her."

Harry nodded. "I can't believe I never thought to bring you here. I guess we've so rarely had dinner alone together, especially since the children arrived."

She couldn't stop looking around. "I love it." A moment later she bent in closer to him and whispered excitedly, "No one's watching us!"

Harry leaned in too, joining in the conspiratorial fun. "I know. Isn't it great?"

* * *

An hour and a half went by in an instant. They talked of Ron and Ginny and the quotidian challenges of small children. Harry also heard about a quarter of the lecture on Pureblood law that Hermione had delivered earlier that day to Shacklebolt. Their plates from their main course had finally been cleared, and they fell into a contented silence. She reached across the table to take one of his hands in hers, rubbing her thumb gently on it.

"Harry, thank you so much for bringing me here." She just couldn't believe how free she felt. She had of course been to Muggle restaurants growing up and with her parents during holidays, but her parents had become distant, both geographically and emotionally, since the War. On the few occasions she did see them, Ron and the kids were with her, so she never got much of a chance to feel what it was like to be outside of the wizarding world.

She felt a calmness with Harry. They were truly alone together in a way they could almost never be in public. Even the friendly hand-holding they were now doing would be worthy of gossip among wizards. But here, they could just be themselves for once.

The waiter appeared. "Madame and Monsieur, any dessert this evening?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione, questioning.

"I'm rather stuffed, Harry. But I don't want to leave yet."

"Coffee?" She smiled in reply to his question. Harry looked up at the waiter. "Two espressos for us."

"Very well." The waiter began to turn, but halted himself. "Ah, Monsieur Potter, Chef has asked me to remind you we have your favorite dessert."

"So much for anonymity. Eh, Harry?" Hermione laughed.

"Steve knows I order the pumpkin pie every fall when I'm here. They're actually these small tart things that are quite wonderful. It's not very French or Moroccan, so I sometimes think he keeps making them just for me." Harry looked up at the waiter. "I'll definitely have one. Hermione?" He once again raised his eyebrows at her. "It's _really_ good."

"I'll be happy with the espresso. But save me a bite or two," she said, flashing him another grin. The waiter departed and returned a few minutes later with two small cups, a single dessert plate, and two forks. Harry and Hermione finally broke away from their hand-holding to take sips of espresso.

"Mmm... Harry, this is amazing."

But Harry had been distracted by a bit of discussion over by the band. He saw a woman step up to the piano and make a request. "Play it once, Sam, for old times' sake." The pianist seemed a bit confused at first, but eventually picked up the tune and motioned for the band to join.

"I love the music here." He looked back at her, and she nodded, smiling softly as she took another sip from her cup.

Sam started to sing in the background, " _You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss..._ "

Harry dug his fork into his miniature pie and took a bite. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste. "Hermione, you think the coffee is amazing? That's nothing. Come on, you _have_ to try this." He pulled up another forkful and held it across the table toward her mouth.

"Harry? He brought me my own fork, you know."

"Humor me."

Sam's voice was now crooning, " _Woman needs man, and man must have his mate, that no one can deny_..."

Hermione hesitated. They could hold hands and walk arm-in-arm all the time, but this felt unusually intimate. _Is it weird that he's feeding me?_ She met his eyes again. "Umm, okay."

As she tasted it, she too had to close her eyes for a second. It _was_ really good. The perfect blend of spices and silky custard. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Harry staring at her with a smirk.

"You, er..."

"What?" she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Here, let me..." He reached across the table and cupped the side of her face, intending to gather the whipped cream from her nose with his thumb. But he never got that far.

* * *

It was like a bolt of lightning passed between his hand and her face as they touched. They both started blinking uncomprehendingly. Visions erupted in their minds.

Her eyes opened wide, and she grabbed his wrist tightly with her hand, with his hand still cupping her face. "We've done this before."

"I fed you this. When?" _What the hell?_

"And you wiped whipped cream from my... Harry?"

His eyes were still closed as he tried frantically to make the memory come into focus. "It was in the forest during the War. We were in the tent together." His hand practically burned on her face, as energy was flowing off of her, but he didn't let go.

She closed her eyes again. "Harry... we were dancing together. When did that happen?" His touch now felt like it was surging energy into her. Dark energy. Primal energy. _What the hell was going on?_

Their eyes flew open at the same instant, locked on each other, and a completely new emotion struck to the core of their being. _Desire_. They were both breathing hard, eyes dark. Without realizing it, they had both started to lean forward, inching closer every second.

Harry vaguely became aware of some shouts from the kitchen. It was enough to make him blink, and with a tremendous effort, he ripped his hand from her face, pulling it back and forcing himself to look down from her eyes. Their breathing gradually slowed. He finally got up the courage to look up again and saw her quaking, on the verge of tears. "Hermione?"

"What the fuck was _that_?" She was terribly frightened, looking like she had seen a boggart.

"I don't know. It's like a lost memory. I remember a day from the War. We were in the forest, in the wilderness, just the two of us."

"You brought back food." _Ron was gone. I said I'd never leave you._

"We danced together." _He closed his eyes again and reveled in the sensations of her in his arms, laughing, carefree._

"I remember too. You called me 'Mione?" _She could feel his arms wrapped around her, completely safe. She looked into his eyes, then to his lips, then..._ "Harry, it's the strangest thing. For just a moment, you had blue eyes."

"What?"

"We were dancing, and... now I don't see it that way."

"Are my eyes really green?" he queried in confusion, as if he were going insane.

She opened her eyes and looked at him softly. "Of course they are. Why would you even ask such a silly-"

"I saw them too. Years ago. Right here at this restaurant, in fact. I was looking at a collection of photos McGonagall had sent me, photos from our early years at Hogwarts. And for just a moment, I swear I had blue eyes in them. But your dress wasn't blue, all the colors were off. And then... I thought I had imagined it." He was deep in thought.

"My dress tonight, Harry?"

"No, no... your dress robes at the Yule Ball. It was a photograph from years ago. You were the 'pretty girl in blue,' right?" His eyes were closed again as he was trying to sort out the memories.

She couldn't help blushing that he remembered that. "Harry, I had no idea you'd even noticed."

"You still are... you know? Especially tonight." His eyes flitted briefly up, but he quickly looked down at his plate, not quite sure what was coming over him.

She saw him as if he were a new person. The jacket he was wearing accented his shoulders perfectly, and his open shirt collar hinted at a few dark curls on his chest. Her eyes gradually rose, taking in a hint of five-o'clock shadow, then his eyes, his lips. Girlish feelings she hadn't felt since she was a teenager caused her heart to flutter. She forced these unbidden thoughts away. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"We need to talk about what happened. Do you think these memories are real?"

He finally paused to look at her again and was dumbstruck. She had become gorgeous. Or, rather, she looked exactly the same as she had a few minutes ago, but that dress, that face, _those lips_. What was coming over him? "I don't know, Hermione. I feel... I feel, very strange."

"Me too. That dance, if it was real..." _Merlin. His eyes, his mouth._ What was she thinking?

"What did we do? What happened after that?" _I called her 'Mione?_

At that moment, the waiter reappeared. "Monsieur, Chef Kloves would like to know how you liked your, ah, pumpkin _pie_."

"Uh... sorry," Harry stammered. "It was very good. Tell Steve I appreciate it... _we_ appreciated it. Can you, erm, give us a moment?"

" _Oui_ , Monsieur Potter. I should return anyway. A moment ago we had some fires flare up in the kitchen. Nothing to be concerned about; they are under control. Oh, and Madame..." he whispered, as he made a gesture with his finger across his nose.

Hermione reddened and wiped her face with her napkin. That somehow broke the spell for her. As the waiter left the table, she felt the sudden urge to flee too. "Harry, can you excuse me a minute? I need to..." She left the table abruptly and headed for the loo.

Harry couldn't help staring at her hips swaying as she walked away. _What is wrong with me? Stop this!_ He shut his eyes and struggled to figure out what was going on, what to do. He didn't know if the memories were real, but they certainly felt real, _damn_ real. Yet they were still rather hazy. He knew that was the day he went to the village, and now he remembered more. He ate at a pub. He bought a pie. _For her_. He came back, he stood watch, and they... _danced_?

Then it came to him: the next morning he had awoken in her bed. What the hell had happened to them? They hadn't just been tired; the memories were just gone. And now they were back. Well... not entirely.

He saw her emerge from the hall near the door, and just as she did, a red-haired woman walked into the restaurant, crashing into her and almost knocking them both over. As they recovered, the woman turned. It was Ginny.

Harry couldn't help sighing. _Of all the gingers in all the towns in all the world,_ she _walks into 'Mione_.

* * *

Hermione splashed cold water on her face repeatedly. She looked up in the mirror and stared at her reflection for several seconds. _Is this really me? Did that really happen, or was it just some sort of strange dream? What is real, anyway?_

Even in her more philosophical cogitations, she wasn't generally one to muse on the nature of reality and existence, but her world felt like it was falling apart tonight. She exited the small downstairs bathroom and found a glass of water in the kitchen, before settling on the sofa and staring at nothing.

She had practically run home from the restaurant, apparating as soon as she found a private location that wouldn't draw suspicion from Muggles. After what had happened with Harry, she didn't even know what to say to him, let alone to Ginny when she showed up. She didn't even return to the table, only grabbing her coat and apologizing to the two of them before running out the door, supposedly to get back to Ron and the kids.

Thankfully, they were all in bed when she returned, though. She needed time alone – to _think_.

She closed her eyes, and her mind was once again flooded with memories. _They were dancing together, and she felt his strong arms around her, his eyes gleaming mirthfully at her as they swayed. He felt so warm, so carefree, so safe._ Safe from what? Her brow furrowed deeper as she tried to focus on the scene. _His eyes were now darker, staring at her. She scanned his face, wondering what he was thinking. She turned away._

And then the fog returned. It was like the memory faded out. Was it real? Did that really happen? With every moment she focused on the vision, it seemed to become more true, more integrated into her past. But it still floated apart in her mind, a kind of spectral image that was both transparent yet more real than anything she had ever known, and also terrifying. _Is this what it's like to go mad?_

The thought had already occurred to her a few times as she was making her way home. Her brain had always been her refuge, and her intellect was the one sure thing she could always depend on. _Except Harry_ , her mind answered. _He has always been there too._ And then she was lost again in a dance, reveling in the closeness, the same sensation of utter contentment she always felt with him, except magnified to the point that she could forget the rest of the world around her.

She shook her head violently, urging herself to focus. She was a woman of reason, of _logic_.

Hermione began to lay out the explanations in her mind, methodically listing them as formal propositions. There were three main possibilities:

 _(1) I am going completely mad, and my memories now have indeterminate veracity._  
 _(2) The new memory of that day is false._  
 _(3) The new memory of that day is true._

As she had done so many times before, she then constructed a virtual chart in her brain, visualizing columns of supporting arguments pointing back to these propositions.

The first proposition was the most distressing to her, but she had already almost dismissed it. Harry had experienced something too, so she wasn't crazy. But how did she know her recollections of Harry's reaction were reliable? How could she depend on any certain knowledge, if she were going mad? _Are insane people capable of working out complex logical arguments like this?_ She didn't know.

Having reached a logical impasse, she moved on to the other options. If the second proposition were true, where did the memory come from? She had felt some sort of dark energy at the restaurant, even though there was no evidence of magic around them. But someone could have given them a potion, perhaps in their food or drink. To what end, though? Why create an old memory in their minds, one so distant and yet so personal?

She thought back to the restaurant again and now recalled the other part of the memory: _they had eaten pumpkin pie before, together._ That memory was less certain, less distinct: _a flash of them eating and Harry putting his hand on her face._ She involuntarily leaned her head to the side as she recalled it, experiencing the gentleness of his touch. An overwhelming emotion rushed over her, as she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.

Abruptly, she shook her head again, driving herself back to the realm of reason. _That must have been the trigger_ , she thought. She could think of no rational argument for implanting a memory of the two of them having dessert together. But their unintentional reenactment must have helped them to remember. This was no normal déjà vu.

So the third proposition remained. What if the memory were true? Why had they both forgotten it? She thought back to the pie again. Harry had brought supplies that day in the forest; she could remember that distinctly. They were planning to move on, and she assured him that she would stay with him. And then it dawned on her: that strange moment when they had awoken together in her bed. It must have occurred soon after. She tried desperately to focus the recollections, but it was all a blur.

Someone had to have cast a memory charm on them somehow. Harry had been gone that day, and she had been asleep. But they'd have known if someone had penetrated the wards. It must have entered their camp another way. _The supplies. The pie!_ It now seemed so obvious that she couldn't believe she hadn't considered it before. There had been no pie when they awoke the next morning and no remnants of it. Perhaps there was a potion in it or some other form of charm. That must explain the magical energy that diffused between them: Harry's strange shift in eye color was a result of the charmed energy that had bound the memory as it dissipated. But why would someone want to remove their memories?

For just an instant, a frightening thought crossed her mind. Harry had brought their food. Then he had been in her bed. _What had happened to them? What had they done?_ But, no – Harry would never, could _never_ do something like that to her. She had entrusted her life to him so many times. And he had seemed as freaked out at the restaurant as she had been.

But the unanswered questions now remained: _Who would have done this? Why would someone do this to us?_ She remembered that Harry had been paranoid that someone was watching them, that someone would find them in the woods. But they never had any evidence. There were no more clues. Her reasoning exercise had seemingly reached a dead end, and she dismissed the chain of arguments from her mind.

Hermione rubbed her temples with the fingers of both hands, as she lay down on the sofa. She was exhausted. It was quite late, but the strange energy at the restaurant earlier also seemed to sap her strength. Until now, she had been driven by the adrenaline that pushed her to resolve the strange puzzle before her. With no more data to consider, she succumbed to her fatigue, breathing slowly and deeply in an attempt to release the earlier tension.

Their memories had been violated during the War; she was now nearly certain of it. The motive must be connected to the memory. In her fatigue, she couldn't resist the sensations anymore as they washed over her. _She was in his arms again, swaying gently, in a state of utter bliss._

Then her eyes flew open, and she sat straight up. _Ron!_ All of this time, she had been so focused on this memory, this puzzle. But a wave of guilt began to well up inside her, as she pulled a hand to her chest. She hadn't felt this way since that awkward night in the Hogwarts hospital wing, when Ron had arrived to see her in absolute distress over Harry. She hadn't dared to relive that evening, with her overwhelming panic at Harry's injury, and that odd moment when she had felt compelled to tell Harry that she loved him.

Now it came flooding back, and her eyes became moist with tears. She didn't know what this new memory of Harry and her during the War so long ago meant, but she could no longer deny the emotions that she seemingly always knew were there. _I love him, desperately, completely._ Her face was in her hands as she struggled to muffle her sobs. She thought of Ron, sleeping upstairs, unaware of the existential crisis that was now invading her. She loved him, too. Of course she did. He had been there so many years, struggling to make things work with her, supporting her as they created a home and family together. The faces of Rose and little Hugo came to her mind, and she couldn't imagine her life without them.

And the next afternoon, she was to leave with Ron, their first real vacation alone together since Hugo was born. This was supposed to be a time for them to renew their relationship, to be away from the cares of daily life and take time for just the two of them. But her mind was now completely unmoored from reason and logic, as emotions threatened to tear her apart. How could she focus on that after all that had happened tonight?

* * *

Harry sat in his auror office, his head bent over his pensieve. Glancing out the window, he saw traces of purple appearing in the dark sky as a chill passed through him. Dawn was coming, but he dreaded what this new day would bring.

He still hadn't come to terms with the bizarre confluence of events of the previous evening. Ginny had somehow chosen _that_ night to find him at Casablanca. Her business dinner had ended early; the kids were already with Molly, so she came out in search of Harry. Since the Auror Department knew nothing of his whereabouts, she went to the one place she knew he came when he wanted to get away from everyone, thinking they might perhaps have a late drink together.

That, of course, had turned an already tense evening into a disaster. Harry had been overwhelmed by the end of his dinner with Hermione, and he suddenly found himself flustered as he attempted to explain why he and Hermione were having a fancy dinner alone at a Muggle restaurant. That Hermione looked like she were dressed for an important date and then abruptly ran off didn't seem to help at all.

Ginny rarely said anything bad about Hermione, but Harry knew Ginny was occasionally jealous of their time together. It seemed to have worsened in the past couple of years, since that night with Malfoy at Hogwarts. Harry had always assumed that Ginny felt a bit of guilt that she hadn't been there or that she hadn't been equipped to help him as Hermione was. It was one of the reasons he had temporarily grown apart from Hermione after that: he loved Ginny, and he wanted her to know that his first priority was to her and their family. The other reason, which Harry tried never to think of, was his grand declaration of love to Hermione after he had been injured. That moment left him feeling unbelievably embarrassed afterward, when he thought back to her casual response that she had loved him too. Obviously, they were friends, and that was how she heard it. He never intended to speak of it again, blaming it on the fact that he was overwhelmed with his injuries at the time.

But now Ginny's anxiety had been rekindled, despite Harry's explanation that the dinner plans had come up suddenly and that it was even Ron's idea. They had barely spoken all the way home, before she stormed silently off to bed, slamming the door behind her. Harry knew that would likely be sorted out this morning; she could talk to Ron, and the dinner would make more sense to her. Still, he worried about her. He always put his family before everything, and it hurt him a bit that she would even suspect something untoward could be going on.

Harry turned back to the pensieve. _But that was the problem, now, wasn't it? What_ had _gone on?_ Harry had given up on a fruitless quest for sleep and came to his office several hours ago. He had been reliving the newfound memories over and over, looking for clues. Although he didn't acknowledge it to himself, the use of the pensieve created a sort of objectivity, allowing him to disconnect a bit from the raw emotions he felt from that memory. He tried to view this as just another auror investigation, whose subject just happened to be a violation of his and Hermione's memories.

He was only mildly successful, however, both in distancing himself from the emotions and in his investigation. He couldn't help thinking back to her last night. Even before the incident with dessert, her brown eyes had glimmered at him for hours as they talked and laughed. He would occasionally glance down to her neck, to the sapphire pendant he had given her, then back to her face. They had been so happy together, so content, until the waiter had brought that fateful dessert.

 _The dessert._ A flash came to Harry's mind. He hadn't been reliving the right memories. He had seen the dance and other events of that long-ago day a dozen times, and he had even revisited that strange following morning, again feeling the awkwardness of waking up in Hermione's bed. But, he now realized that the next morning, there had been no pie among their supplies. Harry thought back to his vague recollection of the pub, his lunch, and the barkeep. He withdrew the memory and proceeded to view it several times. There were still several gaps in the memory, but it started to come into focus.

 _The barkeep seemed suspicious of me, but I was a stranger in a small village. He seemed harmless enough. And there was an American voice from the kitchen. Of course: who else would make a pumpkin pie? Could the cook have done something to the pie, perhaps charmed it in some way? None of them seemed like wizards._

Why had he bought the pie in the first place? _There were two men at the bar, one of them told me about them. The man with the long leather coat with a bulge in the back. He had a strange bearing that didn't match his features; he almost sneered at me. Handcuffs had fallen, and I picked them up._

Harry abruptly pulled out of the memory, breathing hard. At that moment, the first rays of the sun came over the horizon through his window, temporarily blinding him before he shut his eyes again, driving his mind back to the memory.

 _Guns and handcuffs._ Harry suddenly had the irrepressible urge to find Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Just then a soft voice came from behind Harry. "It seems you couldn't sleep either."

He wheeled about in surprise, and their eyes met. The morning light was now streaming through the office, the warm yellow beams enhancing her features, bathing her in a glowing aura that was nearly angelic. The light reflected off of those two glorious brown orbs, and the warmth that came over him felt much greater than the mere apricity from the window.

"Harry, are you okay?" He had been staring at her for several seconds, his mouth slightly open, as if he had seen a vision.

Harry now noticed that her eyes were red and puffy, though her face was dry. She was an angel who had been crying. He finally blinked. "I should be asking you that question." He had the urge to leap up and take Hermione into his arms, to shield her from whatever could be wrong. His rational mind fought back though, as he recalled the last time they had touched. He was legitimately terrified of what might happen.

Her eyes fell. "I couldn't get any rest. Somehow I knew you'd be here." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Harry, what happened last night - someone did something to us. Years ago."

"I know."

She looked up again, but he was now staring back toward the pensieve. She continued, "That pie you brought back. It must have been charmed somehow."

"I know," he said, before turning abruptly to meet her eyes again. "Wait, how did you know?"

She looked away. "It was simple deduction. I eliminated all the impossible elements, and a charmed pumpkin pie seemed the only explanation, however improbable it sounds." A slight smile crossed her face. "Well, either that or both of us are simply going mad."

That broke some of the tension, and he laughed softly. "I had considered that option for a while myself."

But she was serious again. "Why would someone do this to us? Who could have done this?"

Harry stood up, his earlier revelation now spurring him to action. "I don't know why, but I'm pretty sure Malfoy was involved." He began walking around the office, gathering supplies for an auror field kit.

Hermione caught his hand. "What?! Draco did this?"

Harry stopped and stared at their joined hands for several seconds. He was half-expecting another surge of dark energy or a lightning strike or really just about anything. He let out a sigh of relief. "I'm not sure, but I think he must have been polyjuiced or something." Harry briefly explained his morning session with the pensieve and his recollection of the man at the pub.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione wasn't convinced. "You know you can't go after him without firm evidence."

They both knew she was right. Draco's drunken attack on Harry had brought him back to the attention of many dark wizards and Pureblood advocates. He suddenly found himself with many powerful allies in the Ministry again, and the Wizengamot had returned a shocking Not Guilty verdict after his trial. The combination of the use of a Muggle weapon (itself an extremely unusual offense for prosecution) and Draco's inebriated state had cast doubt on the charges. His lawyers even had the gall to assert self-defense, since Harry had restrained him in an unusual fashion after a personal altercation. Kingsley had been so incensed at the verdict that he made a public vow to purge the Ministry of the corrupting forces from wealthy families, but both Harry and Hermione knew that Draco still would have protectors.

Harry began gathering materials again. "This isn't going to be an official Ministry investigation."

"What do you mean? You're just going to go after him on your own?" Hermione crossed her arms, her tone becoming stern. "You _can't_ do that. The last time you confronted each other, he _shot_ you, Harry."

Harry spun about, raising his voice, "What do you think we're going to do? I need answers about this, and it's clear from your face that you want them too. But if there's an investigation, you know we'll have to reveal the content of our lost memories. They'll have to be authenticated." _They'll feel the same emotions I've been experiencing for the past several hours._ "Do you have any idea what that will do to Ron, to Ginny... to the kids?" He was glaring at her, but almost immediately his eyes softened as he looked away.

They stood in silence for a long time. They had never spoken about this, about _them_. Over the years, they both put up with the rumors, always unfounded. They both clung to the belief that they were always the best of friends, and that was all it would ever be. They couldn't ignore it anymore.

But Harry thought he had gone too far. What he had just implied about them had crossed _that_ line, the unspoken invisible line. This was _his_ problem, his emotional weakness, and he knew she didn't feel the same way. He looked back up at her and saw fresh tears in her eyes. "Hermione, I'm..."

And then she was in his arms, knocking the breath from him, embracing him more tightly than ever before. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms about her, too, for the first time realizing the true depth of feeling she must have for him.

 _But we cannot do this._ He knew it would tear their lives apart. He started to pull away.

"I'll go with you..." she sobbed, not letting him go.

Harry now pulled back more firmly. He lifted her chin to look into her eyes again. "You can't." He tried to reason with her. "Malfoy won't hurt me again. I know better now, and you know I'm one of the best aurors here. If someone does happen to ask questions, though, I can always find an excuse as part of auror duties or something. If you were there and if anything happened, you know Malfoy and his allies would never let the matter rest."

She shook her head; she didn't care about his excuses. "I need to know you'll be okay."

Harry sighed. He still saw the starstruck look in her eyes, and they could _not_ do this. He thought of Ginny, of Ron. "Listen, Hermione. Don't you have a plane to catch in a couple hours?" That thought finally struck her, as she looked down. "This is supposed to be your time in Paris. Your time to get away with Ron. I know how much you've been looking forward to it. I don't know what happened..." He paused, still uncertain about their memories and what they might mean. "But I do know that you need to think of your family... of Ron now."

She was defiant. "You're saying this only to make me go."

"I'm saying it because it's true." He reached up to cup her cheek, but hesitated, afraid of both a repetition of the previous night's experience and the intimacy such a touch now would convey. His hand fell back to his side. "Inside of us, we both know you belong with Ron. You're part of him, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life."

Tears were again streaming down her face. She didn't care anymore; she couldn't hide behind their silent denials of their feelings. "But what about _us_?"

Harry allowed himself to remember once again, that day in the forest so long ago. _She was in my arms, untroubled, just the two of us, always together._ "We'll always have that dance. We didn't have... we'd... we'd lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night."

She remembered the promise she had uttered that day in the woods: _the two of us, always together_. "When I said I would never leave you..."

His face became serious. "...And you never will. But I've got a job to do too. Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of." He wasn't getting through to her. "Hermione, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little wizards don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that." She was leaning into his chest, eyes still watery. "Now, now..." He pulled her chin up again, as their eyes met a final time.

He forced himself to turn away, gathering his supplies again.

Hermione's breathing had finally slowed, and she struggled to compose herself. In her heart, she knew Harry was right: she needed to go back to her family. She could never abandon them. And she knew that if she didn't go with Ron today, it would raise more questions than she could answer right now. They all needed to move past this. And though she hated the idea of Harry going alone, his reasoning was sound. If anything went wrong, she could always apparate back in an instant.

But how could Harry just dismiss what had happened between the two of them? _And what_ had _happened?_ Their memories were still incomplete. _I turned away after we danced, and then..._ Nothing. Her memory dissipated, as if hidden by a thick mist.

"Harry? We still don't know everything. We need to..." She stepped toward his back and reached out for his shoulder, but he was gone with a _crack_.

* * *

 **Footnote:** The world premiere for the film _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 1_ occurred on November 11, 2010. The film was obviously the source of the controversial (and previously non-canonical) dance scene that inspired the Prologue here. Apologies to Warner Bros. and the writers of _Casablanca_.


	8. Ch 7: Counsel - 7 Feb 2014

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** This chapter may seem a bit too easy after the tension of the past one, but remember this is a story unfolding over two decades. H/Hr have had a lot of time now to process what happened before.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Counsel**

 _February 7, 2014_

Harry's face was stern as he raised his arm slowly. "You've gotta ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya punk?"

Suddenly, a boy climbed over the side of an armchair, his hands pointed out in the shape of fake guns, shouting "Pew, pew, pew, pew, pew!" Harry tackled the boy, and they rolled onto the floor together, both laughing.

"No fair, Dad!" James called out. "You have to play by the rules!"

"What rules? Dirty Harry never played by the rules..."

"Who?"

Harry laughed. "Nevermind. You should head back outside with your brother and sister to have some more time out there before it gets dark. That's why we're here."

James started to don his winter gear, while Harry walked to the window and stared out. The afternoon sun seemed abnormally bright as it reflected off the snow in the mountains around them. He felt two hands come around his sides and embrace in the front, pulling him backward slightly.

"Honestly, I really wish you wouldn't play such games with him."

"He's a little boy," Harry said defensively. "He loves pretend fighting."

"It brings back bad memories."

Harry frowned. "He was too young. They don't really remember that night. Besides, I'm in more danger at my job most days..."

"Still," the redhead paused to pull her head from his shoulder. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Maybe _I_ don't want to think of it either."

Harry turned and looked at Ginny, with an apologetic look. "It was so long ago. You shouldn't worry, you know?"

"I always worry about you," she said before kissing him lightly on the lips. She pulled back and smiled at him. "This was a good idea to come here with the children for a long weekend. We needed some time to get away." She sighed. "But I just wish they hadn't got into it already." She joined Harry as they both stared out the window again. "You should go talk to her. She's been out there for nearly a half hour."

Harry put on his boots and a heavy coat before entering the winter air. He was still amazed by the silence around him. The whistling of the wind and the laughing of the children were all he could hear around the winter cottage he had booked for their weekend in the Cairngorms. He had hoped this would give Ginny and him time to reconnect. As she spent more time as sports correspondent and was attending more professional events, they found less time and fewer shared interests together. Harry knew that she'd love an unusual locale. And once they realized how large the cottage would be, they decided it would be fun for all the kids to have time together in the snow.

He walked over to Hermione, who was standing in the sun, watching the children take turns on their sledges, going down the slope a little walk from the cottage. They stood next to each other for a moment as he evaluated her serious expression.

Finally Harry spoke, imitating a silly American accent, "How's it goin', boss?"

She tried to repress it, but a small smile crept across one corner of her mouth as she continued to watch the children. "You need to stop calling me that. It's ridiculous."

He smirked. "You _do_ outrank me now, Counselor."

She turned her head, now smiling more broadly. "And that's a bit silly, too. You've been Head Auror for years, and Kingsley just made me Deputy Head of the Department last month. I'm still not sure what I'm doing some days..."

"You're doing great." His smile closed as he saw her roll her eyes. "No, I'm serious. You and Kingsley finally working on Pureblood law reform: it's amazing. No one deserves this kind of success more than you."

A moment passed before she replied, "I wish he could feel that way." Her eyes looked down at the snow.

"He does. Ron just needs to find his own path. You know that."

Her face was now more tense. "He just won't believe that I have faith in him. I do... but it seems like he's always acting like he's in second place to someone else. I think that's why he left the Auror Office so soon after the War: he knew you were headed for the top. And he loved working at the store with George for years, but you know that George was always more creative with coming up with ideas for silly magical tricks and gadgets. It seems like he's lost purpose. And with my promotion, he's even more depressed, even though I know he's happy for me."

"If he just did something different – a new job, maybe expand some element of the store..."

"That's just what I told him an hour ago. And he lashed out, saying I was always so critical." She sighed. "And, well, you saw what happened after that. It's like there's a fundamental incompatibility to our perspectives sometimes. He's now brooding upstairs, rather than enjoying this weekend with the kids."

"You know, you _can_ be pretty hard on him sometimes." She glared at him, but he grinned back. "Not _always_ , but I know it's not easy. It's not always easy for Ginny and me either."

A silence fell between them for a minute. Harry bent down and picked up some snow, tossing a small ball in the direction of the children, who ignored him as they boarded their sledges again. Hermione turned away and stared out over the mountains. "We're going to start marriage counseling next week."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe you should have scheduled a session before we came here..." Her head fell as she sighed heavily. He continued quickly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I have to admit I'm surprised, but maybe this is a good thing?"

She turned back to him, eyes now downcast. "I just feel like it's admitting failure. _My_ failure."

Harry knew immediately what that meant to her. Hermione always succeeded in almost everything she tried. He shook his head. "Life isn't like a test. There are no grades. And this isn't about you: it's about the two of you. You've both tried hard." He bent down to pick up another snowball and threw it harder toward the kids, barely missing Albus. "Anyhow, he'll come around soon, and I'm sure he'll be out here later. He's always been great with Rose and Hugo, and our kids too for that matter."

Rose and Albus had turned at the impact of Harry's snowball. They shouted out and ran toward Harry and Hermione, making snowballs and throwing them in their direction. The four laughed and played for a while, before the two children began to run circles around Harry and Hermione, yelling out silly rhymes. Eventually, Albus rejoined the other children, while Rose came between Harry and Hermione, taking a hand of each in her own. They swung her together, lifting her in the air by her arms several times, as she laughed gleefully.

When they let her down, she looked up at both of them, her eyes smiling and shifting between their faces. Then she brought Harry and Hermione's gloved hands together and clasped them, before running off into the snow.

The smile left Harry's face as he dropped Hermione's hand. "I should go back in... check on..."

She grabbed his hand, halting him. They stood in silence for several moments. She hadn't taken his hand in a long time. _Sometimes even a little child can see something better than we can_ , Hermione thought. "Don't you think we've chastised ourselves enough now? We did nothing wrong, Harry. Whatever happened... whatever Draco did, there aren't any answers. I don't want it to affect us anymore."

Harry sighed. He closed his eyes and remembered that day at Malfoy Manor years ago, when he had confronted Draco...

* * *

" _What did you do to us?" Harry shouted angrily._

" _I don't know what you're talking about, Potter!"_

 _Harry threatened to slam him against the wall for the third time. "I already told you that I know it was you at that pub. Tell me what you did! What was it?"_

" _I don't know!" Draco paused, holding up his arms to try to shield himself from Harry's raised hand. "Potter, okay – I owe you. I was out of control a few years ago at Hogwarts, and... things got out of hand. I did add a potion to your food, I'll admit it. I had to: the Dark Lord threatened my life after I failed to kill Dumbledore. He wanted me to kill you, but he didn't trust me to be able to, and frankly, you know he always wanted to kill you himself. They sent me to find you. I swear to you I don't know exactly what the potion was. All I know is that I was sent to give it to you and her."_

" _It_ was _you, in the woods all that time! I never saw you."_

" _They tracked your magic somehow - after some report from the Snatchers when Weasley had left you two. They could only tell me the general area you were in, but I couldn't find you. I waited in that village for a couple days, hoping you'd come out. Then I saw you come down from the forest; it was just lucky that you came to that pub first."_

" _Lucky?! You stole our memories, Malfoy! What did you do to us?"_

" _Memories?" Draco abruptly appeared puzzled. "What are you talking about?"_

" _The memory charm! The one from the potion!"_

 _Draco was even more confused. "Potter, I swear to you that I don't know exactly what that potion was, and the wizard who probably brewed it is long dead, along with most of the Dark Lord's lieutenants. You saw to that. But I never knew anything about a memory charm. I only overheard the Dark Lord talking about you and her, and how they needed to confuse or confound you, to keep something from you, something that would have given you more power in your fight against the Dark Lord."_

 _At that point, two wizards in dark formal robes came into the room behind Harry. He recognized them as Draco's lawyers. "Head Auror Potter," the first said, "we received notice from Ms. Malfoy that you entered these premises without invitation. I assume there is a reason for your intrusion. Is this official business?"_

" _I was just leaving." Harry turned to glare at Draco one last time. "I was catching up with an old school friend. Don't worry; I'll show myself out."_

* * *

Harry opened his eyes again, staring down at their enjoined hands, then glancing down to the snow. "We can't..."

"Can't _what_ , Harry?" Hermione exclaimed in frustration. "We can't hold hands, even with two layers of gloves between us? We can't ever touch each other except to hug quickly with the family twice a year on holidays when it would look weird if we didn't? Harry, we used to be _friends_."

"We _are_ friends." He continued to look at their hands, not letting go. "But we need to think of our families."

"You are _part_ of my family. We're adults, not some teenagers whose hormones _maybe_ were confused when we were alone and felt abandoned in the woods decades ago. We lost a part of us to the War, and you know there's no hope of getting it back. We don't even know what it was. Even my parents were never the same after I _restored_ their memory, and here we are worrying about one day so many years ago."

She thought back to their fruitless quest to find out more...

* * *

 _Harry had owled her even before she left for Paris with Ron that day. He said he was fine, but that Draco didn't have the answers. He obsessed about the case for months. Even before she got back, he had visited Azkaban to interrogate a dozen former Death Eaters. None could give him more information than Draco, and he couldn't attempt Legilimency on them without an official investigative reason. He suspected most of them knew nothing anyway. Harry also went to the pub, now closed. He even tracked down the barman, who clearly knew nothing, and the cook was an American who had nothing to do with wizardry. He found their campsite, and aside from a couple trees scorched by fire long ago, which he assumed could have been related to remnants of campfires from hikers he saw around, there was nothing there._

 _For weeks, they had tried all leads, and Hermione had brewed four different memory potions to try to restore their memories completely. But all attempts were met with failure. She speculated on the possible things Voldemort might have been trying to keep them from finding out: the location of the Sword of Gryffindor, the Horcruxes, the reason for Harry's connection to Voldemort, information about the Deathly Hallows. So many things were possible. Perhaps that day they had discovered something the potion had meant to confound them about, something they later learned anyway, but the memory of that day was lost nonetheless._

 _Finally, she came to his office one night and said they needed to accept that the memory was gone. They had won the War; Voldemort was vanquished. And whatever that strange dance they had was merely that: a time between friends long ago. She knew he had kept searching for answers for a few more months, but now three years had passed._

* * *

Hermione clasped his hand more tightly, and Harry finally looked back up to her face. "It wasn't just one day," he said.

Harry had never told her of the emotions that album from Dumbledore seemed to bring forth to him, and he still didn't know whether or how those memories might be connected to Draco's potion. When she had once asked him about his odd recollections of the Yule Ball, he dismissed it vaguely as something he had imagined. She had just returned from her trip with Ron, and they seemed to have renewed things together. Harry couldn't tell her about it back then, and he certainly couldn't now, given her recent fight. And did it matter? All of that seemed so long ago.

She saw a sadness in his eyes that mimicked her own. "No, it was never just one day for us. It's been over twenty years. Twenty years of caring about each other. Twenty years of knowing we can trust each other completely. Maybe there was a different path for us that night... some sort of ghost that could have been. I don't know. We'll probably never know. But you were always my best friend. And right here, right now, I want us to be what we've always been for each other." She looked down. "I'm _so_ tired of this..."

And then, without warning, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. It took only a few seconds before he closed his arms around her too, that familiar sensation of peace starting to return to him.

They held each other until their breathing slowed and they felt completely relaxed. She pulled back, still holding his arms, and looked into his eyes. "The world didn't end, did it? Our families didn't implode. There's no one in the world who has been more supportive of Ron and me than you over the years." Then she looked down at his chest, suddenly shy. "I've never told you this, Harry, but I _need_ this from you. As a _friend_. It's not about crazy passion or love affairs or whatever nonsense we have both fretted about these past few years. That's not who those teenagers became; it's not who we are. But sometimes I just need to be close to you... I don't know why. It settles me, centers me." She met his eyes again, uncertain. "Can we be friends again, like we used to be?"

"I already told you, we were _always_ friends..." Then he pulled her into another embrace, lingering for a long time.

Several minutes later, they called to the children to come in and have some hot chocolate. A light flurry of snowflakes began to fall as Harry and Hermione walked to the door of the cottage, arm in arm.

* * *

 **Footnote:** February 7, 2014 was the date of the release of the JKR interview with Emma Watson that reinvigorated shipping debates most people thought were long dead. Among other things, JKR suggested that Ron and Hermione likely needed marriage counseling and may have a "fundamental incompatibility" that was the inspiration for this story's title. The implications of the controversial dance scene were also discussed, as JKR approved of its canonicity. Other allusions to that interview have been and will be sprinkled throughout other chapters here.


	9. Ch 8: Thespians - 21 Dec 2015

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** And now for something completely different...

The past few chapters have been overly angsty and serious, so here's some absurdity (with occasional humor) before we get to the final stretch. Some readers may not like this, given the previous tone of this story. We will return to something more familiar in the next chapter, as the mysteries about what happened to Harry and Hermione will finally be revealed (well, almost).

But given the real-world inspiration for this date, our heroes are expected to not quite be themselves. Are the characters taking on roles, or do the roles drive them?

A bit OOC, particularly for Harry, but he _has_ been hanging out way too much with a quite silly Ravenclaw lately. And believe it or not, there _will_ be an explanation for much of the absurdity here that's consistent with the previous chapters, even as things go off the rails toward the end. If you find this _really_ isn't your thing, it's possible to skip ahead to the next chapter (though there are a few reveals about H/Hr here). But I promised homages to various fic genres in the prologue, and this chapter was an essential part of the plan from the start.

* * *

 **Thespians**

 _December 21, 2015_

Hermione walked briskly down the corridor at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She rounded a corner abruptly, nearly knocking over two young trainees who offered apologies to her back. She nodded in affirmation but didn't turn or stop.

"Was that...?"

"Yeah. What's she doing here this time of night?"

"Must be here to see the Chief."

"Oh, that makes sense." The young man's dropped to a whisper. "You ever think anything of the rumors about them?"

"Nah. Maybe they had something back in the day, but they're both married with kids now. But rumor has it that he's been visiting her office a lot lately. It's a bit unusual for her to show up here, though."

Hermione was lost in thought, wondering why Harry had summoned her this evening and why he had requested that she bring a medical kit. A minute later, she arrived at the Head Auror's office. The door was ajar, and she could hear two voices inside, laughing light-heartedly. Uncertain of how to announce her presence, she knocked gently on the doorframe.

"Hermione! Come in." Harry looked thrilled to see her, and she could barely contain the grin that started to form just from the proximity to him. The corners of her mouth stopped short, however, as her eyes glanced another figure leaning on Harry's desk, clad in deep crimson robes.

"Oh yes, Hermione, you must remember Auror Davies?" said Harry.

"Roger! How good to see you. It's been several years, hasn't it?" _A bold color choice for robes_ , she thought. _I wonder what happened to Ravenclaw blue? "_ I didn't even realize you were working in the Department."

Roger smiled at her. "Well, I'm still officially attached to another division, and I've only been back a couple months. I spent several years abroad working undercover."

 _Not in those robes, I hope. You'd stick out like a sore thumb._ Hermione waited for him to continue, but sensed he purposefully wasn't saying more.

Harry's voice broke into her thoughts. "'Men of few words are the best men.'"

"Harry the Fifth! How very droll, my friend." Roger laughed.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. _Did Harry just make a wisecrack employing an obscure Shakespeare reference?_

Harry chuckled to himself and let Hermione in on the joke. "Rog, here, as a typical Ravenclaw, spends a lot of time with books, but his thespian hobby lapsed a bit while he was away on assignments. So he and I have started a little Shakespeare club. Well, it's not much of a club so much as him convincing me to read more of the Bard along with him, leading to witty banter like you just witnessed. Or, rather, _we_ like to think it's witty. Most of the Department just finds it annoying when we're together these days."

Hermione's eyes shifted between them in disbelief. "Harry, I guess I never realized you would be into a hobby like that. I didn't know you'd go beyond some bad Muggle movie quotes. And last I knew, you were still somewhat miffed with Roger over the whole Cho Chang affair."

"Hermione, that was ages ago." His hand waved off the old memory casually. "And well, Rog and I have had to spend a lot of evenings together lately for work, so the Bard has helped to pass the time. I also figure if I'm working my way up to high offices, I should sound more educated, no? 'I bear a charmed life.'"

Hermione couldn't help letting a quiet laugh escape. "Yeah, you sure do."

"How's Ron?" asked Roger.

She sighed softly, but suppressed the sadness that threatened to tell Roger more than she wanted to reveal. Instead, she looked thoughtful for a minute and then pronounced, "'He hath eaten me out of house and home.'"

Harry's eyes went wide as Roger guffawed. "Cute, very cute," Roger sputtered.

"And so _very_ Ron. Well, I guess we've met our match, Roger." He paused with a smirk, but suddenly his expression became more serious as he grabbed a folder from his desk and handed it to Hermione. "To get down to business... Oh good, you've brought the magical medical kit. I know it's been a long time since your training at St. Mungo's, but we'll need your expertise tonight. Rog here has a lead on an old wizard who may have helped create the unusual charm Malfoy used on us so long ago."

Hermione was temporarily stunned. _I didn't even know he was still actively researching that. That night in Casablanca was over five years ago_. "You, you... told Roger about... us? About _that night_?"

"I trust Rog with my life. I shouldn't really say more about it, but years ago he did a lot for me on assignments, and I know we needed someone... someone who..." Hermione tacitly filled in the unstated _who isn't a Weasley or related to one_... "to help us finally get to the bottom of this. This isn't exactly official Ministry business, you know."

"I know." She met his eyes and saw the sadness, along with his determination. _I hope Harry knows what he's doing here_. She stiffened a bit and addressed Roger directly. "You know that both of us need to avoid a public scandal, but we were also violated in a very personal manner during the War. Harry and I..."

Roger held up a hand to stop her. "Harry explained it all. I'm used to top secret assignments, and I also owe Harry a great deal. And given the role the two of you played in the War, you deserve to know what happened and why."

"In any case," Harry continued, "we need to apparate to Stratford-upon-Avon tonight. Rog and I have made inquiries about an ancient wizard who lives in the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, or rather in a magical enclave within the building. He's an expert in memory charms and has helped actors remember their lines for centuries. But, Hermione..." Harry stepped close to appeal to her. "He's incredibly old and a bit of a recluse. It seems he may be dying. He apparently has a nurse, but he goes in and out of consciousness and sometimes has painful fits."

Roger looked to Harry and said quietly, "Couldn't we bring along James instead? She wouldn't have to..."

Harry knew Roger was referring not to his son, but to a senior healer at St. Mungo's they both trusted. But not with this. "James Dunkirk doesn't have field experience, and this could be dangerous." All three of them immediately knew what Harry meant. In the past couple months, several aurors had been ambushed by dark wizards, and Harry himself had just fended off an attack a couple weeks before. Harry had met with Hermione several times recently, discussing theories on the reasons for the attacks. Roger assured him that the old wizard wasn't associated with dark magic, but the unknown situation made Harry cautious.

"Hermione and I fought together, and we need to..." Harry paused, and looked to Hermione again. "We need your medical expertise to keep the old wizard lucid, and we couldn't trust this conversation with anyone else."

Her eyes dropped. She was having second thoughts. "I... I really don't know if we should do this. But I suppose it's our only option, right?"

Harry took a few steps toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She slowly looked up to meet his eyes, seeing the depth of emotion that he couldn't utter aloud. "Someone did this to us. _To us_. We're still missing part of our lives. We don't know what Voldemort wanted to keep from us. I need to know." His voice dropped to a whisper. "What happened after that dance..."

Hermione's cheeks took on just a slight shade of pink as her eyes dropped to her feet. _We_ _swore not to do this._ Finally, she spoke aloud, "'For you and I are past our dancing days.'"

 _Romeo and_ _Juliet_ , thought Harry. He couldn't believe it: simultaneously, she evoked the greatest romance of all time and one of the most depressing sentiments possible. He parried, a bit gruffly, "'Tempt not a desperate man.'"

She jolted. Two could play at this. They still didn't know what those memories meant. Her eyes rose to meet him in defiance, "'There are more things in heaven and earth,' Harry, 'than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Harry sensed the shift in drama, but he was resolved. "'We know what we are, but know not what we may be.'"

Her breath caught. Her eyes suddenly grew watery, as she stared into his gleaming emerald orbs for a long time before muttering with mild annoyance, "Fuck you, Hamlet. This is getting old." The stare now burned between the two of them.

Roger had been silently watching the deft exchange of wit with amusement but felt the abrupt change in tone. "Guys, guys. Let's just take a step back. You two have the most enduring relationship I know of. After all, 'Friendship is constant in all other things.'"

Hermione turned and nearly shouted, "Stuff it, Rog! You know as well as I how that one ends: 'Friendship is constant in all other things, _Save in the office and affairs of love_.' Pretty ironic given where we're standing and what we're talking about, no?" It was now Roger's turn to admit defeat; his head dropped sullenly. Not only had he failed to cheer her up, but he had brought shame on the House of Ravenclaw by being bested at Shakespeare quotations by a Gryffindor.

Ignoring this exchange, Harry took her hand in both of his and held it near his chest in an almost pleading fashion. "Listen. Whatever happens, whatever we find out, we'll still be friends, right?" One of his hands came forward to raise her chin and make her look at him again. "That's what Rog meant, despite his poor choice of words. We can do this _together_. Then we'll know, and we can move on. But no matter what, we'll still be us. We've proven that to each other. Our friendship will _always_ be there." He meant it sincerely. He cared about her, but he loved his family and would not threaten that.

Hermione saw this in his face, but she had her own concerns. Despite their time spent together at work lately, she did her best to deflect questions about Ron. _I can't let him know about Ron and me. Not how bad it's become. Not now. And what might we discover about ourselves and that night? He needs to focus. He needs to be there for Ginny and the kids, not me._

But after a moment staring into his resolute eyes, she nodded.

"It's settled then," Harry proclaimed. "One last thing. We'll need to disguise ourselves. There are a surprising number of wizards who hang around the Royal Shakespeare Company."

"Mostly Ravenclaws," admitted Roger. Somehow, Hermione was not surprised by that fact.

"So, Hermione, cast a glamour on yourself; we need a low profile so we can go in without detection." All three held out their wands, and a few moments later their faces were transformed.

Hermione turned back to look at them in shock. "Uh... you can't be serious."

"What?" Harry and Roger responded together.

"The two of you simply _cannot_ show up at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre looking like Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen. That's pretty much the opposite of 'low profile.'" Also, given his odd crimson robes, Roger looked like Ian McKellen playing a Catholic cardinal.

Again, in unison, "But we've used this disguise before!"

"Yes, well, maybe that worked in the wizarding world. But Captain Picard and Gandalf will get some stares among Muggles, trust me."

Disappointed, but grudgingly admitting that she was right, the two men transfigured their faces again, adopting less distinctive features. Hermione nodded her approval.

"Well, to the THEATRE!" Harry bellowed, adopting an extremely posh accent.

"To the THEATRE!" echoed Roger. "'When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'"

"'When the hurlyburly's done...'" chimed in Harry, who motioned for Hermione to continue the line. She simply glared at him.

"'When the battle's lost and won!'" Roger finally added.

"'Make it so,'" Harry concluded, in his best Sir Patrick voice.

Hermione groaned, as they apparated together. _This was going to be a long night_.

* * *

It _was_ a dark and stormy night, Hermione observed to herself, as they arrived outside the doors of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.

"'True it is that we have seen better days,'" Roger remarked.

"Is that _Twelfth Night_?"

"Actually, Harry, it's _As You Like It_ , though a shorter version also shows up in _Timon of Athens_."

"Well that's obscure."

Hermione groaned. Again. "'Lord, what fools these mortals be!'" she shouted to the heavens.

Roger and Harry chuckled. Harry added, "We get that a lot. Well, actually, the exasperation is rarely expressed with such erudition in the typical responses to our behavior."

"Just shut up, Potter."

"That's more typical."

They entered the atrium of the theatre, navigating through a crowd that seemed to be departing. The thespian duo were in heaven as they gazed about the place in wonder, with Hermione following quietly, shaking her head at them. A few theatre-goers dressed in robes and cloaks were among them; Harry was glad he had suggested the glamours. He didn't want news circulating of Harry and Hermione gallivanting around England late at night together. _That would be a disaster._

Not that there was anything to suspect. They were, as always, friends. But he couldn't let on to Hermione that he had been spending so much time with Roger partly because he and Ginny were having a very rough time lately. Harry's idea for a family getaway to Scotland around Valentine's Day last year had indeed helped them reconnect a bit. But since Rita Skeeter's exposé on former D.A. members, Ginny had grown distant again. The book had dredged up the usual lies about Harry and Hermione, as well as all sorts of other nonsense about Harry. Ginny knew that there was nothing to it, but they had both grown tired of having their private lives in the public spotlight. A news article showing Hermione and Harry at an unscheduled evening event together was just the sort of headache Harry didn't need right now.

One night after he had a bit too much scotch with Roger, Harry had muttered something about Draco Malfoy. Somehow Roger had finally talked him into confessing that he and Hermione had lost memories. Roger didn't know the whole story, even now, but he certainly knew (as everyone did) how close Harry and Hermione were. Harry hadn't planned on dredging this business up with Hermione again, but once Roger admitted he knew of a wizard who might help, Harry felt compelled to follow up.

And the truth was that Harry had never quite believed the explanations Hermione had proposed for their memory loss, as only about information that Voldemort was trying to hide during the War. He still hadn't told her the details of Dumbledore's album, but Harry always suspected there had to be more at work than a simple Confounding Charm that just happened to affect their memories.

"People seem to be leaving." Hermione's voice brought Harry from his thoughts, as she motioned for them to find a place to get out of sight.

Lingering after the crowd dispersed, Harry and Roger couldn't resist a look inside the actual performance space, after magically undoing the locks. It was pitch black. As they made their way along an aisle, Harry muttered, "'Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.'"

"Good god, Harry. Let's just cast a _Lumos_ already." Hermione's wand glowed brightly, but it was nowhere near enough to illuminate the large theatre. " _Lumos maxima._ " Now she could finally look around.

"'O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright,'" offered Roger. Hermione covered her face with her free hand, shaking her head in disbelief that she was here with two lunatics on whatever insane mission to meet some mysterious old wizard.

"'See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!'" Harry countered, following the _Romeo and Juliet_ theme. In the dim light, he could see her features, glowing brightly near her wand. _Like the sun_ , he thought. _No, no! Concentrate._ Thankfully he hadn't said that one aloud _._

"Can you two just quit it for a while?"

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks,'" said Roger.

"Roger, I swear if I hear another one, I'm going to shove this wand up where the _Lumos_ doesn't shine!"

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded near the side of the stage.

"'Out, out brief candle!'" Roger whispered as the three cast _Nox._ A tremendous thunderclap erupted outside the building; the storm had begun to rage again, and they could hear the soft rush of rain upon the roof.

" _ROGER..._ " Hermione growled.

"Sorry, sorry. That one was accidental, I swear. The sound caught me off guard."

"And for heaven's sake, stop quoting the Scottish play _here_!"

Harry interrupted their exchange, "Oh, you mean _Macb_ -"

"HARRY! You _CANNOT_ say that name in a theatre – especially not _this_ bloody theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon – unless you're actually in a performance of the Scottish play. Honestly, you guys! For all of your Shakespearean shenanigans, you don't know the kind of dark magic that could bring down on us all?!"

"I thought that was just superstition," Harry muttered apologetically.

Hermione let out a deep breath. "It could get someone killed."

The three slowly made their way to the stage, navigating by the faint glow of exit sign lights. Harry and Roger's auror instincts were fully engaged as they used a series of complex hand signals to communicate to each other how to move forward. After several seconds of silent gestures and increasingly forceful shaking of heads due to apparent disagreement, Hermione sighed in exasperation, "Guys, if something were going to attack us, don't you think it would have already?"

Harry had to nod in agreement.

"Not to mention I think someone would have noticed our extended discourse on the subtleties of Shakespearean etiquette."

"You're not helping, Roger," said Hermione.

The three lit up their wands again. Crouching in a corner, stage left, was a middle-aged woman clad in wizard robes, a pile of fallen props strewn about her. "I... I... please don't hurt me," she pleaded.

Harry stepped forward. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We need to visit with the Old Wizard of the Theatre. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I take care of him." She sized them up a bit and apparently decided they were no threat. "Follow me."

The trio closed ranks together to walk with her. "Our first clue, and we're on the right path! 'The game's afoot!'" Harry cried in quiet excitement.

"No shit, Sherlock," Hermione grumbled.

"'These words are razors to my wounded heart.'"

Roger smiled. " _Titus Andronicus_ , Har... I mean, Patrick! Nice one."

The middle-aged woman turned to look at them as she walked. "Uh... are they feeling okay?" she queried to no one in particular.

"They can't help it," sighed Hermione, yet again. "I'm beginning to think it's pathological."

"Oh deary, don't worry," replied the woman. "This place has odd effects on many Shakespeare lovers."

Roger, sensing that maybe they _had_ been going overboard, attempted to change the subject. "Hey, uh, Herm... Miranda." Hermione groaned at the evocation of that untouchably perfect woman from _The Tempest_ ; they had forgotten to choose an appropriate cover name for her. At least he didn't call her "Kate," for which she'd probably have to slap him. "Umm, I was wondering. Whatever made you choose _that_ appearance tonight?"

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, bobbing her head toward the woman in front of them. "Do you _really_ think now is the best time to talk about _that_?"

The woman broke in, "Oh deary, you needn't worry. I know you're all using glamours to disguise yourselves. Actors around here often do. I've been around enough so I can tell, though I have no idea what you actually look like, of course." All three breathed a bit of a sigh of relief.

"Well, Miranda?" Roger queried again.

"What, you mean the fact that I'm _black_?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Is there a problem with that? I have naturally frizzy dark hair, dark eyes... why not?"

"Well, I suppose some people might have a problem with that: first, because some people don't expect you to be, and second, because, umm... isn't this a kind of racial _faux pas_ , as it were?" Roger struggled to find an appropriate euphemism for blackface.

"I hardly think it's like that. I just see it as a different, well... acting challenge."

Harry erupted in laughter as they continued deeper into a stone tunnel that looked centuries old. "You sound like Ian here. You know, Ian actually pretended to be mentally disabled once for a field, erm... acting assignment? Except he got so into his role that he couldn't communicate properly anymore. And he thought he'd come back and receive some sort of award for it! Ian, everybody knows you never go full reta-"

"That's enough, Patrick," Hermione cut him off, raising her eyebrows and shooting a glare at Harry's choice of language.

Roger couldn't resist jumping in, "'It is a tale told by an idiot... full of-'" The woman leading them covered her ears, as another thunderclap echoed from far above them.

"And you, Ian! STOP quoting the Scottish play!" _This conversation was really going off the rails,_ thought Hermione, _though Harry did have a point. Dustin Hoffman in_ Rain Man, _Tom Hanks in_ Forrest Gump _, and even Peter Sellers in_ Being There. _All got awards for acting in_ _an unusual manner, though not acting extremely mentally disabled. Fantastic flick that last one._ It had inspired a young Hermione to come up with a spell to walk on water. "Anyhow," she continued, "I think I'm beautiful this way, and a perfectly good example of an, er... actress to play me."

"Okay, okay," Roger raised his hands defensively. "I wasn't implying there would be anything wrong with you if you were... which you're of course not... umm, well, now appear to be..."

"I get it," Hermione stepped in to assist before he said something patently offensive. "It's just not what you were expecting. But it's still me here! Hello?! Gettin' down with the sisterhood!" She held up her arms and rocked her hips a bit with the last sentence.

Harry scowled at her. "Now that's taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

The three descended a short stone staircase in the depths of the ancient earth surrounding the theatre. "We've arrived," the woman sighed in relief, as she held up a hand, directing them to continue past a large wooden door.

* * *

Harry, Hermione, and Roger stood before a large, sumptuous Elizabethan bed. A man of extreme age lay upon it, snoring loudly. A suit of armor, perhaps in olden times used by the occupant of the bed, stood watch over him. The rest of the room was strewn with miscellaneous spell-making apparatus: potions and pieces of ancient magical equipment had been thrown haphazardly upon every surface.

Hermione stepped in further to examine the man. He was dressed in a high-collared shirt with an additional ruffled white collar, along with stockinged legs and a pointed cap, looking like someone straight out of the first Queen Elizabeth's court. The long beard and astronomical symbols on his cap should have reminded them of Dumbledore, but this wizard's features were milder with smaller eyes and mouth. After consulting quietly with Hermione about her medical skills, the woman who appeared to be his nurse had left them and closed the door behind her.

"Hermione... can you wake him up?"

"Why don't you try to wake him up, Harry? It's not like rousing people from sleep typically requires medical magic."

Harry opened his mouth as he slowly approached the old man, only to realize he didn't actually know the wizard's name. "Eh... old man? Hello?" The wizard snored more loudly, making odd whistling and puffing noises when exhaling. Harry tried again, more loudly, "Wizard of the Theatre! We are here to seek your counsel!" Still, the old man snored. Hermione noticed an ear trumpet on the nightstand and motioned to Harry, who picked it up and shouted into it. "HELLO! WE WOULD LIKE TO TALK WITH YOU!"

The old wizard started and half sat up, before feeling the weakness of age and settling back upon his pillow. He stared at the three novel faces in his room. "Ot Advart te Ferrrr, Zivintat Orl of Ukfurt!" he said loudly.

"What did he say?" Harry looked to the others.

"'Sound and fury, signifying nothing.'" Roger smiled with satisfaction as he finally got to complete his earlier line. Distant thunder rumbled again.

Hermione repeatedly beat Roger's shoulder with her fist.

"Ot Advart te Ferrrr, Zivintat Orl of Ukfurt!" The man repeated the phrase more loudly and gesticulated wildly toward himself.

"I think he's trying to tell us who he is," said Harry.

"'I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.'"

"STOP IT, Roger!" Hermione smacked him across the chest with her bag, which was met with a grunt.

"Ooo! Mirrie Veefs uf Weentzer!" The old man pointed knowingly at Roger.

Roger smirked at Hermione. "See, that got something out of him! It's weird though. His speech, it's... wait..." a light dawned on his face, "...maybe he's so old that he comes from a time before the Great Vowel Shift in England. What he just said sounded like the _Merry Wives of Windsor_!"

Hermione could not resist rolling her eyes. " _That_ is likely the nerdiest explanation you could possibly come up with. And I say this as someone who spent most of the first twenty years of her life in a library." Roger beamed with pride. "Anyhow," she continued, "if that were true, he clearly understood your quotation, so why couldn't he speak standard English? And how exactly would he be sitting here half a millennium after the Great Vowel Shift and not know modern English?"

Roger's beaming smile closed, as Hermione approached the old man with trepidation. "Sir, is there a reason you're still wheezing a bit? Can I help you?" Just as Hermione bent down to listen to his chest, the old man spluttered and a half dozen mothballs came flying out of his mouth. The thespian duo could only gape in shock.

"Greetings, good sirs and mi'lady," he said, in the poshest royal accent the three had ever encountered. "I am certain you are met with surprise by the ejaculations from my orifice." Harry looked down and blinked several times as his cheeks reddened slightly; Roger's face grew three shades of purple before he finally let out a soft snigger.

Their female companion rolled her eyes again. "He's just using outdated vocabulary." Looking back at the ancient man, she said, "Please continue."

"Thank you, dear lady. You see, at my age, when I sometimes slumber for a fortnight at a time, it is best to keep vermin from nesting in my mouth." Any semblance of mirth left the duo's cheeks as they considered the horrors implied in that statement.

"In any case, I am Edward de Vere, Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, and of course, Wizard of the Theatre, at your service. And you, I see, are Harry Potter. And his lovely companion witch, Hermione." She felt her cheeks warm slightly. "And you?"

"Roger Davies, my lord, at your service." He practically stood at attention.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Uh, yes sir," he hesitated, "but how can you tell who we are?"

"Oh, I invented half of the glamour incantations used today. Actors have employed them through the ages. A lovely transmutation you've done there, dear lady." Without her current glamour, Hermione's face would have turned a bit pink. "Most wizards who come to visit do silly things like imitating John Gielgud or some other famous Shakespearean actor."

Hermione quipped, "Well, before I fixed them, you'd have had Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen standing before you." The duo held their heads in shame.

"No need to wallow in misery, young lads. 'To thine own self be true.'" Taking the hint, the three raised their wands to remove the now unnecessary disguises, as Hermione's eyes rolled so far up they almost did a somersault.

"So, you're really _that_ Oxford," she turned to stare at him thoughtfully. "The man who might have written Shakespeare's plays?"

"Oh no, dear lady. That's all a bunch of balderdash, made up by pretentious actors who can't believe that great things can come from unexpected places." A glimmer in his eye passed over Harry, then back to Hermione. "I merely helped them all to remember their lines! Willie was a dear fellow, but nowadays people don't realize he had quite the dirty mind." The old wizard wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing a sinking feeling in the stomachs of all gathered around. "But, ahem," he launched into a loud coughing fit that caused Hermione's brow to furrow with worry, "what can I do for you?"

"My Lord Edward," addressed Roger, who uttered the honorific as if performing a ceremony before a combination of the King of England and the Bard himself, "we show obeisance unto you," he paused to bow deeply, his crimson robe fluttering about him in most noble fashion, "and humbly beseech my lord to offer counsel on a great matter. My good comrades here have become aware of a woeful charm created from the darkest chthonic magic, a spell that disrupted a fragile memento of a time dear to both of them some years ago. With the aid of a goodly helping of pumpkin pie, a glimmer of their past has shown forth, but not the entire tableau, as it were."

The old wizard glanced back and forth from Hermione to Roger and then back to Hermione, whose head was shaking in her hands. "Is he serious?" the old man queried, pointing his thumb at Roger.

"Unfortunately, yes," Hermione replied.

"No, I mean, does he always talk like that?"

"Pretty much," Harry sighed. "Though, he did manage to get through several sentences without a single Shakespeare reference."

"Pumpkin pie?"

Harry and Hermione's faces both reddened a bit. The wizard at that point launched into another coughing fit and then lay still, eyes glazed over and unresponsive. Harry looked at Hermione, who quickly pulled some small bottles from her bag. A tiny drop from one vial and two from the next, and the wizard coughed himself back to life.

"I apologize. One of these days soon, that will happen, and I shall not awaken. But now, pumpkin pie, indeed." The wizard nodded thoughtfully. " _Cucurbita pepo_ is a powerful magic item when combined with spells that affect memory. As a New World specialty, many wizards still haven't learned to appreciate its uses. What else was in the pie?"

"Well, it was typical custard, probably with milk and eggs," Hermione conjectured. "And umm, some cinnamon?"

"The inner bark of genus _Cinnamomum_ , yes."

"Maybe a little nutmeg and a hint of cloves."

"The seed of _Myristica fragrans_ and the buds of _Syzygium aromaticum_."

"There was something else. Harry, you've sampled those tarts a lot of times."

"They've always hinted to me of a secret ingredient," Harry thought aloud, unintentionally licking his lips as he imagined savoring the taste again. "It's a little hot, I mean spicy hot. But just a tiny bit." Hermione, for some reason, started to blush again.

"Capsaicin!" The old wizard's eyes glimmered. "Of course. And this pie was also enchanted with a dark memory charm?"

"Well, no," replied Harry, "but the first one affected our memories."

"This pumpkin pie is clearly the key to recovering all you have lost." He rummaged beneath the blankets on his bed and pulled forth a truly giant wand that sagged with age. He waved it over Hermione's head, deep in concentration, then motioned for Harry to come forward. After examining him, the old wizard spoke softly to Harry alone, "'How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness though another man's eyes.'"

 _Tell me about it_ , Harry thought glumly. Then his eyes flitted up in recognition of where this was leading. _No! How does he know? Does he know about me? About her?_

"Sorry to butt in on yet another Shakespeare-gasm or whatever it is that the two of you are doing," Hermione interjected, "but is there anything we can do?"

"Alas, I cannot recover your memory, for this charm is indeed very dark magic and seemingly attuned specifically to the two of you. It must have been a custom potion made for you."

"Wait," Harry started in alarm, "this spell was created specifically _for us_? It wouldn't have effects on anyone else?" Hermione's fingers intertwined with Harry's, for the first time that night. Subtly, the light from all the torches and candles in the room glowed brighter. Roger was the only one who noticed, perplexed at what could be going on.

"I do not know, but the potion must have been mixed by a true master, familiar with ancient esoteric magics. For the two of you, it has created a deep shadow in your minds that even I cannot penetrate."

"So, whatever it was, it wasn't a happy memory," Hermione sighed in resignation.

The old wizard continued, "Oh no, my dear. No, no. We know nothing about that. In fact, the use of spicy capsaicin to bring forth a portion of the memory suggests that this was a very, shall we say, _hot_ memory indeed." Harry and Hermione both turned beet red now, as their hands jumped back from their shared grasp.

As the lights in the room returned to their former luminescence, Roger stared awkwardly at his feet, muttering to himself, "'Too hot, too hot! To mingle friendship far is mingl-'"

Harry heard it and glared at him, interrupting with a stern whisper, "Roger! Don't you think that's a bit on the nose?" He turned back to Hermione, who thankfully appeared to have missed Roger's commentary.

"Oh don't get too worked up," the old wizard chortled. "I really don't know what this all means. But what I do sense from the two of you is that anything you're both this determined to remember must be something terribly important to both of you. The fact that uncharmed food already broke through such powerful magic when you consumed it together indicates a kind of magical connection, something fundamental and primal, which I've rarely seen in my many years."

Hermione glanced at Harry without turning her head, swallowing slowly. "So what do we do?"

The wizard half coughed, half laughed. "Eat more pie?" Roger couldn't help chuckling in the corner of the room. "To be perfectly serious, the answer to such dark magic lies in the scrolls of Hermes Trismegistus, the source of ancient wisdom and memory. Some of the secrets were also rediscovered by Marsilio Ficino centuries ago, but they may have been lost again to time. The right spell combined with the right pie recipe..."

But their conversation was cut short. Suddenly, the room was filled with flashes of colored light, as shouts of " _Expelliarmus!_ " and " _Stupefy!_ " came from behind them.

* * *

Despite all the Shakespearean silliness earlier, Hermione had to admit she was now glad to be with Harry and Roger, who turned instantaneously, wands ready, to parry the blow from every spell. Unfortunately, Hermione was caught off-guard; her wand had flown from her hand and landed across the room, out of reach.

The five attackers continued hurling curses at the trio, ignoring the old man, who had gone back to snoring. The middle-aged woman who escorted them in stood behind the attackers, glaring at all of them. _She brought them_ , thought Harry. _Did she know who we were?_

Harry moved in front of Hermione to shield her, while Roger slowly advanced. " _Accio_ sword," one of the wizards called out, bringing forth a weapon from the suit of armor displayed beside the bed. _Well, that's old-fashioned_ , thought Roger.

" _Accio_ dagger," cried another, and suddenly the aurors were faced with slashing weapons dancing in front of them, along with continued spells hurled from wands.

"'Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?'" proclaimed Roger. Violent magical energies from the curses surged above them.

"STOP QUOTING THAT PLAY!" Hermione roared. "And no, you ninny, the _blade_ is pointed right at you!"

In the meantime, Harry had managed to disarm one of the wizards, who turned to flee, with the sword dropping to the ground with a loud clang. The nurse followed quickly. However, before he could do anything, Harry saw Roger sliced several times and then struck repeatedly in the chest by the dagger as he parried a final curse with his wand.

Roger fell to the ground, blood seeping from his chest, which still had a dagger deep within it. Seeing the blood on his clothes, Roger murmured, "'Out, damned spot! Out, I say!'" his hand spasming with ineffective healing and _Sourgify_ charms.

Hermione quickly moved to him. "Stop it, Roger! Give me your wand so I can help you!"

"'Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend.'"

"Give me the fucking wand, Roger, or else you may not be alive to have any friends!" _How does Harry put up with this?_ She finally grasped the wand from his hand and began trying her best to control the bleeding with it, along with some healing potions from her bag.

Then, looking up for an instant, she saw Harry, outnumbered four to one, in the fight of his life. She couldn't very well use Roger's wand to great effect in such fierce combat, and her wand had been picked up by one of the remaining attackers who were slowly closing in on Harry. _I can't lose him. I can't_ , she thought, as tears began to form in her eyes. Suddenly, he was hit by a _Stupefy_ and an instant later was on the ground. "Harry!" she cried.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " shouted one of the wizards, and Harry rolled over, wandless, to see Roger coughing up blood.

Hermione moved a few steps forward and grabbed Harry, dragging him as they dodged innumerable curses to move behind the bed. She looked deeply at him, and in an instant her eyes said everything. _Harry, you can do this. I know you can do this. We've been in worse situations, and I love you and couldn't live if this were the end. I am here for you, always._

Harry, like most senior aurors, had some basic facility with wandless magic. But he had never taken on more than one wizard without one. However, something in Hermione's eyes changed everything. It was like he could feel _her_ inside him, more power than he ever had before coursing through his body.

He glanced at Roger one last time. Turning from the gruesome scene, the feral cry of a man whose dear friend was perhaps fatally injured thundered forth from his very being, as a look of dread came over the remaining dark wizards. Before they could move, an enormous fireball erupted from Harry's hands, blowing two of the wizards straight through the door and halfway up the stairs, the sheer force of the spell itself creating numerous cracks in the stone walls. For the two dark wizards remaining, multiple curses from Harry seemed to lash out at them all at once as dozens of magical beams scattered across the room. One was immediately disarmed, before turning and running through the door, pulling his stunned and somewhat charred companions along with him. The other was knocked over and lay on the ground, severely injured.

Hermione could barely contain her astonishment. Even at the height of his power, she didn't know if Voldemort could have done such magic without a wand.

Harry ran to his wand, and then to the disabled attacker, shouting frantically, "Who are you? Who sent you?"

The wizard merely gurgled forth, "'If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we-'"

"SHUT UP!" Harry and Hermione yelled simultaneously.

Harry continued, "If there's anyone who is getting revenge here, it's not you. _Petrificus totalis_." He could deal with him later.

Hermione was thinking quickly as she worked, tending to Roger. _Why was he wearing this damn outfit! Even the shirt under his robes was that color. It made it so hard to isolate the wounds._ Blood was still gushing forth in places.

Roger's eyes had gone wide in pain, but softened as he looked up at Hermione struggling to stabilize him. "Thank you," he said softly.

"'Brevity is the soul of wit,' Roger," she murmured as her hands attempted to bind his wounds.

He smiled up at her, "You know, you're _really_ good at that." Even as she desperately worked to save him, she found time to roll her eyes.

Harry ran over with her wand, and he gave into a sudden undeniable urge to embrace her, even briefly. "Help him, Hermione, please."

They separated, as Hermione stammered, "I AM a magician, Harry, not just an old country doctor."

 _Now she starts with the quotations_ , thought Harry. If he had time to stop and think, he would have been astounded yet again with what a complete nerd she was. With her wand returned, Hermione magically removed the dagger, then kept muttering _Ferula_ and _Episkey_ and other more powerful healing spells she had learned as a young woman. Finally, Roger's wounds appeared stable. But he had passed into unconsciousness, though not until mouthing a resigned "'A man can die but once'" to Hermione's disapproval, now tempered by sorrow.

Harry attempted to go for help, but realized that anti-apparation wards surrounded the room. "What now?" he asked in confusion.

"'The miserable have no other medicine but only hope.'" She looked solemnly down at Roger.

"What the hell, Hermione? What does that mean?"

"It means we need to get him out of here and to a real medical facility right now."

Harry began to levitate him toward the door, but then Roger softly sunk to the floor. Harry moved quickly with his wand, realizing the whole area around where the fireball had traveled wouldn't allow his spells to work properly. Even the petrified wizard's legs were still spasming a bit. He looked to Hermione. "I don't know what's going on, but magic isn't working here. How do we get him up that stone staircase?"

"Look, I'm a doctor, not an escalator."

"HERMIONE!"

"Sorry, I don't know what's come over me." She looked about in desperation. "Those old spears next to the armor over there have a couple of long wooden poles. With one of the blankets from that giant bed, maybe we can create a makeshift stretcher."

Harry grabbed them. "We need some cross pieces to secure his head and body and keep him from slipping as we go up the stairs." He glanced at a pile of what he guessed were remains of magical animals used for potions and started digging through them. He found some large bones and rope that were suitable to the task.

A few minutes later, they had a stretcher. "You take the top, Hermione; I'll support his weight from the bottom. Let's go!" Hermione didn't think she had the strength, but they soon made progress and half-hauled, half-dragged Roger to the top of the stairs. As they worked to move him, Harry finally had time to ask the burning question in his mind: "Hermione, what the hell happened back there?"

She shook her head. "I was going to ask you the same thing. I had the strangest feeling, like we were channeling our magic together," she paused, pulling Roger up the last step with a grunt, "and then just as suddenly the sensation was gone." She didn't mention the overwhelming feeling of pure love from him that seemed to hit her chest like a brick when it happened. That would have to wait for another time.

They carried him forward a bit, but Hermione had to stop and rest. Harry ran ahead, testing the wards. "I think we can apparate him here. This is going to be rough to do a side-along like this. Are you up to it?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

"St. Mungo's emergency ward. Ready?"

"Beam me up."

A moment later, they found themselves in the hospital, falling to the ground from the awkward teleportation. Nurses and Healers immediately began to crowd around. A man obviously in charge broke though. "I'm Administrator Dunkirk. What seems... to be... the prob-" Then he saw the faces of the two who accompanied the stretcher and his eyes went wide. "What happened, Harry?"

"We need your help, James. Roger was attacked, and Hermione bandaged him, but..." His voiced trailed off as he glanced over and realized Hermione was holding back tears.

"I didn't see it. How could I not see it?" she said. One of Roger's wounds had continued to bleed out on their way. _If only he hadn't worn the fucking red shirt today._

Administrator James T. Dunkirk glanced down at poor Roger and then at the curious stretcher they had created to bring him. With quiet intensity, he couldn't help saying, " _Bones...?_ "

Hermione deadpanned, "He's dead, Jim."

* * *

 **Footnote:** On December 21, 2015, JKR tweeted her approval of black actress Noma Dumezweni (renowned partly for her Shakespearean roles) to play the role of Hermione in _Harry Potter and the Cursed Child._ JKR further claimed the choice was canonical and that Hermione's race had never been specified, a fact that sparked great controversy. (To be clear, I have absolutely no problem with actors of whatever race playing these characters, though given a few brief passages from the books, the claim that Hermione could have been dark-skinned in previous canon seems unlikely.)

Sincere apologies go out to William Shakespeare, the creators and writers of _Star Trek_ , and even the writers of _Tropic Thunder._

This may be a good place to note that while this story is DH-epilogue compliant (mostly), is it NOT _Cursed Child_ compliant. With the amount of time-travel tomfoolery in that play, let's just say that whatever happens after the DH-epilogue here is fair game.

Lastly, I feel like I should explain that a lot of this story is being driven by all sorts of subtext hinted at in pervasive allusions. They've just now risen from passing allusions in previous chapters to the status of direct quotations in this chapter. Most of the quotations here are actually revealing something beyond their immediate context (except for the stuff from Macbeth, which is just JKR's favorite play injecting turmoil into our characters' lives again). Maybe someday I'll get around to annotating all of it. Then again, some of it really is just silly movie quotes.


	10. Ch 9: Resonance - 3 Feb 2016

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** An unexpected visit leads to way too much expository dialogue as H/Hr finally have "the talk" and try to puzzle things out together. I'm least satisfied with the structure of this chapter (and there's really no easy way to break it up); perhaps at some point I'll try to fix it and make the middle less tedious. I do think it's realistic that Harry and Hermione just need to talk this through for a couple hours, but it's difficult to make all of that interesting to read.

But I promised the story would be finished for 9/1, so this will get us to the ending (which is already written and hopefully much better than this chapter).

The final chapter will be delivered as promised on Epilogue Day on September 1st.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Resonance**

 _February 3, 2016_

Harry was paging through yet another set of reports, his third this morning, as the young auror across from him fidgeted nervously. "Auror Laszlo?"

"Yes, sir, Head Auror Potter, sir!" The red-haired young man stood at attention, even though he was seated.

Harry rolled his eyes. _It was always this way_ _for the_ _new aurors._ "Just call me Harry, okay?" _That_ never worked, either. "Victor, you've done great work on several cases, though it seems you have had a few mishaps with defensive spells. And I see here a few weeks ago you accidentally struck an old Muggle woman with a disarming spell, which sent her cat flying through the air and into a nearby tree, requiring some effort to retrieve the animal."

The young man hung his head in dismay. "I'm sorry, sir. It was dark, and we had a tip on alleged dark magic activity in the area. I thought I saw someone flash a wand in our direction."

Harry gazed out of his office window. "We all have accidents from time to time. You know, you actually remind me of a close friend of mine at your age. We had all sorts of mishaps together, though you seem to be quite a bit more uptight." He looked back across his desk. "Just relax and try to remember to identify your target clearly next time, okay?"

"Yes, sir, Head Auror... er, Harry, sir."

Harry sighed. "That's all. You may go now."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity to serve."

Harry wrote a few short notes and closed the folder, glad to be done with these performance evaluations for this morning. Mostly, he really was just trying to help the young aurors out and give some friendly advice, but he also knew that for many it would just take some time on the job for them to settle in.

Auror Laszlo's red hair and eagerness had reminded Harry just a bit of Ron in his younger days, when they were both aurors for a while together. It seemed so long ago, and Harry would never have predicted where they'd be now.

Ron had finalized the divorce with Hermione not even a week before. After a truly spectacular fight over the Christmas holiday, Ron declared he was moving out. Harry hadn't actually spoken to him for a few months before the holidays and was surprised to find out that he had stopped going into work at the Weasley magic shop in the early autumn. Although Hermione was willing to try a separation for a while, Ron thought there was no point, that this had been coming from years. They were divorced barely a month later.

Last Friday, the evening after they had signed the documents, Hermione had shown up to Harry's office looking as if she hadn't slept in days. The kids were with their grandparents, she said, and she just needed someone to have a drink with her. But she didn't want to go back to her house that night: she said it had too many memories. Harry suggested Grimmauld Place, which hadn't been occupied in over a year now.

Ginny had never been fond of Grimmauld Place, and Harry had taken to letting friends and family stay there over the years, often at minimal or no rent. Neville had lived there for a while after Hogwarts, and he and Hannah took care of the place until they ended up above the Leaky Cauldron. Some remote cousins of the Weasleys had been the most recent tenants, but they had moved on as well. For the past few months, Harry took to keeping an office there with some extra storage, and he'd occasionally go there when he needed time alone or to work late at night.

What he couldn't quite admit to Hermione is that he'd been spending an occasional night there now too, even when work didn't demand it. After the brawl between Ron and Hermione over the holidays, it seemed Ginny was finally motivated to deal with the silent dissolution of their own relationship. They had grown apart over the past decade and were now very different people. And they had simply lost interest in tending to each other. But Harry wasn't at all willing to go through the kind of fights he had seen his two best friends participate in. Sometimes it just made things easier for him to be away. He of course hadn't mentioned any of this to Hermione, who had her own problems. With Casablanca now closed, and with the recent death of Roger, Grimmauld Place became his quiet refuge from the world.

Harry and Hermione apparated there and found themselves wine glasses before settling in the sitting room on the first floor. As they relaxed together before a roaring fire, she complained of Ron's behavior for a while, but they soon settled into discussion of the children and reminiscences of old times. After two bottles of wine, Hermione had produced an expensive French bottle that had been part of a wedding gift from Fleur and Bill. They had given them several bottles intended to be opened on various anniversaries, chosen by a sommelier to be aged appropriately. The tenth anniversary bottle was the last of the series, and it had been forgotten last year amidst Ron and Hermione's continual relationship struggles.

Harry thought they already had enough, and he felt strange drinking an anniversary bottle. But Hermione convinced him that Ron didn't really want to drink wine anyway, so it shouldn't go to waste. They raised the first glass in memory of Roger, after which they both fell into a long silence. It seemed to be uncommonly good wine, though Harry could hardly tell by that point.

The next thing Harry knew, he awoke spooned up to Hermione on the one small bed he had cleared for himself at Grimmauld Place. His memory was hazy, but he vaguely remembered helping Hermione to lie down, before realizing she was weeping softly. She had earlier confessed to Harry that it had been over a year since she and Ron had been intimate, and she just needed to feel close and comforted for a few moments. Harry obliged, and in their inebriated state, they had rapidly drifted off to sleep together.

But it was then Saturday morning, and Harry needed to get home to help with the children. He managed to extricate himself without disturbing her sleep, though not before stopping to stare at her tranquil face in the soft morning light for several minutes. Harry had no idea what Hermione's reaction would be after their slumber together, so he went out to a shop and left her a cappuccino and a croissant, along with a brief note that he was happy to talk more when she needed.

That morning was now five days ago, and she had been avoiding him. Aside from a couple terse professional exchanges at Ministry meetings, they hadn't even spoken. Harry was worried about her, but he didn't quite know what to do. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her more vulnerable and lonely than she was that night, but part of him feared that she'd just pull away and shut down if he tried to bring it up.

* * *

A knock at his door startled Harry from his thoughts. "Mr. Malfoy is still waiting to see you," his assistant said. "Shall I keep telling him you're busy?"

This was the third day this week Draco had come to the Auror Department, requesting to speak with him. Harry didn't know what to make of it and had sent him away without seeing him. But now Draco had been waiting for over two hours, and Harry's curiosity was finally getting the better of him. "I'll walk out with you," he said.

A minute later, Harry came down the hall to the main entrance of the Auror Department. Draco stood as he approached.

"What is it that's so important, Malfoy?" Harry eyed him with suspicion.

"Uh... Harry, can we talk privately?"

Harry could not have been more surprised at the mode of address. He couldn't remember the last time Draco had called him by his first name. His tone was strange as well, lacking the general haughtiness and superiority. "What's this about?" Harry asked again.

"It's a private matter. I swear this is something you'll want to know – about a _potion_."

Harry got the hint and motioned to the guards at the entrance. "You can come back to my office. But you'll need to leave your wand - and anything _else_ you might be carrying – here." He glanced down at Draco's antique walking stick, which was distinctly different from the one Lucius Malfoy used to carry. Rather than a snake's head, there was only a simple silver knob with the Malfoy crest on it.

"Is that really necessary? How do I know you're not going to ambush me?"

"Malfoy, I'm the Head of this entire Department. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be on the floor."

Draco reluctantly handed over his wand, and Harry motioned for the guards to pat him down to check for other weapons. "He's clean," said one of the guards. After examining the walking stick carefully with a wand, they returned it to Draco.

A few minutes later Harry shut his office door and sat down opposite Draco. Harry's tone was immediately aggressive. "What's going on? Why do you keep coming here?"

"No social pleasantries, Harry? I heard Weasley and Gran... er, Hermione finally split. Where's he now? Living alone in some King's Cross dump?" The typical Draco sneer threatened to return.

"Did you just come here to insult my friends? I have better things to do." Harry started to get back up.

"I apologize. Sincerely." Draco looked over at him and seemed legitimately contrite, and Harry relaxed a bit. "I just thought you'd be happy that he got the boot." His tone had dropped from pretentious to merely dismissive.

"Not that it's any of _your_ concern, but it was a mutual decision, and Ron just has a temporary flat until everything gets settled." Harry didn't know how to react to this strange attitude from Draco. "How do you even know about this? I wouldn't think the lord of Malfoy Manor would bother with our trifling lives."

"It's been in the papers. Anyhow, that's part of the reason I'm here, along with your recent purges."

Harry knew that Draco was referencing the widespread crackdown on dark wizards in the past six weeks. Luckily, there weren't too many questions about the night at Stratford; Harry had just reported it as another investigation of dark wizard attacks that got out of hand, though privately he was determined that Roger's death wouldn't be in vain. Harry had been rather rough in the interrogation of the wizard they had captured, a former actor who had been seduced by dark magic. They had quickly located the nurse of the old wizard, who also confessed to having sympathies with Death Eaters during the War. Over two dozen former Death Eaters and other dark wizards had been arrested based on that information and further tips. It seemed that the recent Pureblood legal reforms had spurred a resurgence in the Death Eater cult, which Harry was determined to quash once and for all. They had even finally located the wizard behind the strange ritualistic murders nearly a decade ago, whom Harry always thought of as the "Zodiac Killer." He turned out to be a former junior associate of Lucius Malfoy's, a new star among the ranks of former Death Eaters after the War.

"What of them?" Harry asked. "Have I inconvenienced some of your friends?"

"Actually, I'm rather relieved, to tell you the truth. I know you think I'm the worst of them, and I don't blame you based on our past." Draco paused. "But I would like to be on your side of things."

Harry sat up. "You must be joking..."

"I tried to tell you that night at Hogwarts. I swear I didn't come there to hurt you. I... I was drinking a lot back then, because..." He halted and looked down at his hands, which were idly toying with his walking stick. "I never was good at choosing sides. When we were in school, it all seemed clear to me. And Weasley was absolutely right to accuse me of switching sides too often during the War. Afterward, I was stuck with my father's legacy, and Astoria and I don't want that for Scorpius. I know you'll probably never believe me, but I support Shacklebolt's and Hermione's reforms. I'm not interested in the old Death Eater cult and Pureblood nonsense anymore. We've been trying to raise Scorpius not to believe those things either..." He sighed. "Though you can imagine that creates some problems with my family."

"I have to admit, I do find all this all difficult to take in." Although Draco seemed earnest, Harry didn't know how to reply. Unlike his father, Draco had sought privacy for many years, but the idea that he could have given up the family obsession with Pureblood regulations seemed unthinkable. And Harry's patience was wearing thin. "But why are you here? You mentioned a potion?"

Draco now seemed hesitant. "I couldn't speak out publicly about these things, because there were so many dark wizards who still are close to my family. But there's also something much more personal I couldn't reveal. Your recent arrests may finally remove some pressure, though."

"Get to the point."

"I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll just say it. The potion for you and Hermione during the War was formulated specifically for the two of you, and it was brewed by..." He swallowed. "...Snape."

Harry's jaw dropped open. "Malfoy, you can't be serious."

"It's the truth."

Harry was dumbfounded. What was Draco's angle here? "I asked you about this years ago... you never said..."

Draco's eyes lit up with a burst of anger for the first time. "You didn't really _ask_ me, did you? You broke into my home and beat me until I confessed." He then saw Harry begin to tense up; he hadn't come there to pick a fight. Draco breathed deeply, again staring down at his hands. "Look - I was wrong. But there were some wizards interested in this information who couldn't know more about it. And with the position I was in, I couldn't say more, even to you." He looked back at Harry, more confident again, but not haughty. "Would you even have believed me back then if I told you?"

Harry was shaking his head, unsure of what to make of it all. "I _still_ don't believe you." Harry now regretted not attempting Legilimency on him years ago, though he knew now as he did then that Draco's talents for Occlumency would have made it pointless.

"There's more, though. Snape knew that my allegiance was in question: he had looked after me, and he knew that I didn't want to be with the Death Eaters anymore. One night, after I had been given the task of delivering the potion, he told me that it was 'meant to restore balance.' Those were the words he said. He said that without it, that Voldemort's forces could come to great harm, but so could you... and her. Whatever he did, I think it was partly to protect the two of you."

"PROTECT US?!" Harry cried in disbelief. "By stealing our memories?"

"I told you before that Voldemort wanted to confound you about something, and I don't know anything about your memories. But I swear to you that Snape said that, and I'll take any test you wish to prove what I'm saying is true, if you need it." He stood up and walked to the window, staring out into the distance. "I know I hurt you. You and Hermione saved my life. It's probably too late for you to ever respect me, but I know you two have suffered over the years because of what I did." He paused, unsure whether to go on. "I remember the look on your face at that pub... when you mentioned her..."

"Get out."

Draco turned to face him again. "Snape wouldn't have wanted you to come to harm. Harry, I swear I'm tell-"

"Just _get out_. I don't know what your game is or whether you're telling the truth. But I can't listen to this anymore."

Draco slowly walked to the door, then halted, turning his head slightly. "Tell Hermione that I'm sorry." Harry glared at him until he turned and left.

* * *

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione was startled from her reading and looked up at her assistant's voice.

"Ms. Granger? I know you asked not to be disturbed, but the Head Auror is here to speak with you. He said he needs to see you immediately."

Hermione took a deep breath. This conversation had to happen sooner or later. Hermione of course knew that she and Harry had spent the night curled up in bed together last week. She could vaguely remember feeling him against her, holding her during the night - a memory that had distracted her from her work occasionally in the past few days - and she could smell his scent on the pillow when she awoke alone. Surprisingly, her head had barely ached, but the breakfast she found waiting for her brought an immediate smile to her face. Even in Ron's better days, he rarely managed to know so precisely what she would have wanted.

But Harry's sweet gesture also made her feel even more incredibly embarrassed. She had had too much to drink, overwhelmed with a sense of failure over her marriage. And in a moment of weakness, she asked Harry to do something she shouldn't have, something _they_ shouldn't have. Even though it was barely more intimate than ways they had cuddled together perhaps hundreds of times over the years, this felt like it had crossed _that_ line.

And now she was full of anxiety at the thought of having to talk with him. Part of her wanted to just ignore it, like they always had done. But this was too much to just dismiss as another friendly embrace, wasn't it? He was married, and this was certainly not something Ginny would understand. Though, as Ron had so succinctly noted, the two of them weren't _normal_. And another part of her deeply feared that Harry might pull away again, that they'd spend more years in that purgatory, punishing themselves for doing nothing other than caring too deeply. With her marriage now finished, she needed that solace seemingly only her best friend could provide more than ever. But she had asked for too much...

She took another deep breath and stood up, steeling herself. "Send him in."

Harry came through the door at a swift gait. "We need to talk."

She sighed, looking away. "I know, Harry. I'm sorry about-"

"No, not..." He immediately saw the trepidation in her expression, and it stopped him in his tracks. He stood for a moment and then approached her haltingly, before putting his hands on her shoulders to turn her body to face his. "Come here..." He waited to gauge her reaction and hesitantly drew her into a warm embrace. In an instant, all of her worries seemed to vanish. They stood there hugging for a while, neither knowing quite what to say next. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Did you like the croissant?"

She began to shake as she softly laughed into his shoulder. "I can't believe you. Don't you think we should talk about this?"

"I am," he continued, still holding her close. "Ottolenghi has the only decent croissants in the neighborhood. I think it's the resting and folding... so many places don't take enough time to make the layers develop for that flakiness. They must use quality butter too. I considered for a moment apparating off to Paris, but that seemed a bit much..."

She pulled back, a smile on her face, her eyes shining in amusement. "Harry, _what_ are you going on about?"

He looked more seriously at her. "I didn't know what to do that morning. You were there, and I didn't want to ruin things again. I couldn't lose what we..." He couldn't find the words. "But I'm glad now to see that you're... that _we're_ okay. We are, right?"

"Of course we're okay." But her brow furrowed again. "I just shouldn't have asked you-"

"Shh..." He put two fingers gently across her lips. "It's not like it's the first time I woke up in bed next to you. At least this time you weren't drooling." He smirked.

"Hey!" She gave him a gentle push in his chest, but at least his jest broke up some of the tension between them.

He disengaged his arms from her. "But that's not what I'm here about. You'll never believe who came to see me." They sat down around her desk as he recounted Draco's story about Snape to her.

"But that's absurd!" she cried. "Why would he say all this? Why now?"

"He claimed our recent arrests had made it easier for him to come talk to me. Would you believe he even told me to apologize to you for him, that he privately supported your reforms?"

Her expression shifted from one of disbelief to mild concern. "Harry, that part is likely true."

"What?"

"As Kingsley and I have been pushing through the new laws, we obviously encountered resistance from the Pureblood factions. But just in the past few months, we've seen some shifts in opinion among the Pureblood representatives at the Ministry. I began to suspect that someone with a lot of influence had switched sides and was helping the reform campaign. Eventually I discovered that some of the spouses of these representatives were meeting regularly, supposedly for some sort of social luncheons. I don't know for certain, but I'm reasonably sure Astoria has been trying to exert influence to promote reform."

Harry didn't know what to believe anymore. Draco was telling the truth about that? Could he possibly have been honest about everything?

"Ms. Granger," Hermione's assistant called again. "I'm sorry to disturb, but remember you have a meeting with the Minister in five minutes."

"I'm sorry, I need to go," said Hermione. "We can talk more later."

Harry got up to leave, a look of determination coming over him. "We need to do more than talk. When can you be free for the day? We need to take a trip."

"I have meetings until half three. Where are we going?"

"Back to where it all happened," he said as he exited the room.

* * *

They apparated onto a desolate outcrop, strewn with large boulders. Off on the side of the hill, the forest stretched out below. The mid-winter sun was descending in the sky, mostly hidden behind wispy clouds.

A wind gust arose and blasted them in the face, chilling them. Without thinking, Harry pulled Hermione into his side, attempting to shield her from the cold. _It was a day like this_ , he thought.

"I'm not sure what you expect to do here after all of this time," she finally said.

He guided her over to the edge of the clearing. "This is all I found." Harry pointed to three trees growing among the rocks off the side of the hill that must have been close to where their tent had stood. Faded dark marks still marred small spots on the bark, perhaps remnants of a fire or lightning strikes long ago.

Hermione bent down, examining them closely. "This could be magical, but I suppose it could have come from a brush fire, perhaps caused by lightning or hikers who let a fire get out of control. Yet it's been years since you've been here; this damage was deep. A fire of that magnitude should have spread down the mountain and harmed other trees as well." They both walked about, circling the area where their tent had stood. After several minutes, she looked up abruptly, catching Harry's eyes.

"What? What did you find?" he asked.

"Nothing. But I remember seeing a report: isn't there a spell some forensic wizard has been researching at the Department, to bring together remnants of objects that had been burned in a fire?"

"Yes, Paul Henreid showed it to me a few months ago when we had a case of suspected arson. I've only attempted it a few times. And I have no idea if it could restore something from decades ago."

She looked out across the boulders again. "I can't think of anything else to try, Harry. This place is pretty barren."

Harry held up his wand and uttered, " _Surgat ex cinere_." A cool breeze blew around them, making a tiny whirlwind, blowing up some dust around the boulders. But it dissipated almost instantly.

"Try it over here," said Hermione. "I can't remember exactly where the tent was." Again, the spell failed, as it did three times more. Harry was about to give up, but Hermione pointed to one more spot on the ground.

" _Surgat ex cinere!_ " he intoned. The wind again whistled among the rocks, but now tiny bits of dust began to swirl upward. Patches of earth between some boulders released particles that were buried deep from long ago. Harry kept his focus on the area, as the whirlwind coalesced into a ghostly gray shape, hovering above the ground. It had a vaguely rectangular top, with a few strands of particles flowing down on the sides toward the ground.

"Fascinating." She stooped down and stared for several seconds, marveling at the results from this new spell, until a glimmer of recognition came across her face. "It's my table. The ashes are so scattered now that I can barely see it, but that's what it was. I just thought we had somehow misplaced it or left it somewhere... Those days were such a blur." She stood up and walked toward the edge of the clearing, where she sat on a fallen log, now deep in thought.

Harry let the spell decay, and the ashes fell back to their resting place. "What table, Hermione?"

She looked up at him. "It sat beside my bed, don't you remember? I used to keep books on it when I was reading late at night."

"I really don't recall. But are you saying there was a _fire_ in our tent?"

"Perhaps. I've suspected something like this since we met the old wizard. Before everything went to hell over the holiday, I did spend a few days researching the ancient scrolls he mentioned." She was shaking her head. "I just didn't think it could really be true... but the old wizard must have seen it in us."

A gust of wind blew again, sending another chill through them both. Harry walked over and conjured a small fire among the rocks before sitting beside her. "I don't understand. What's going on?"

She turned to face him. "It's hard to explain, and I'm not quite sure I can make sense of it all myself. But do you remember when we talked about magical resonance years ago around those murders?"

"Yes - wands attuned to their owners, building up energy... like the building in _Ghostbusters_." A smirk emerged on his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't help a hint of a smile. "That's not quite right, but yes. On that night at Stratford, you took down four powerful wizards without a wand or even uttering an incantation. How did you do it?"

They hadn't much talked about that night. Harry had called almost the entire Auror Department immediately to begin looking for the other dark wizards. With all the investigations and then the issues in their families, Harry hadn't wanted to reflect much, nor did he care to relive Roger's last moments. And, truth be told, he hadn't brought this up for another, much more personal, reason.

He stared off, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know. I looked at you, and I just knew... how you felt about me." He swallowed. "It wasn't like Legilimency: it was stronger, more... raw. But then it became deeper: it's like you were inside of me somehow, giving me strength I never felt before. And then the spells just erupted out of me faster and more powerful than I expected. I didn't even intend to throw a fireball at them - I don't know what I thought." He hung his head down, shaking it. "I'm not making any sense..."

Hermione slipped her arm around his shoulder, and she felt him relax slightly. "I felt it, too, Harry. This intense wave of emotion came from you, and then we were somehow together, all of my magical energy directed into you." She couldn't describe how strange and amazing that connection had felt, but she could tell Harry was struggling with it too. "I can't be sure, but I think it's what those dark wizards were trying to do so many years ago. The leader you caught recently - has he given up any more information?'

"You mean the Zodiac killer? No, it's like it was with the others. His mind is completely shut. We know they were after some sort of resonance phenomenon. But what's the connection?" He paused, as the realization came over him. "You're not saying that the _resonance_ is what we felt, how our magic came together? But how? I mean, years ago, you said the wizards ended up dead because they tried something like this... under a full moon in the house of Jupiter or whatever it was."

She pulled her arm away and brought her hands together again, warming them before their small fire. "Well, I think it's a similar process, but I realized after researching the ancient scrolls the old wizard mentioned that we may have something dark wizards and Death Eaters couldn't understand." She turned her head to look back into his eyes. "Harmony."

His brow furrowed. "Do you mean music? Like chords and stuff?"

She smiled. "Yes, actually. But it's a lot more. That's why the old wizard mentioned Marsilio Ficino. In Florence in the fifteenth century, the wizard Ficino helped to start the entire movement Muggles think of as the Renaissance, but Ficino was interested in ancient dark magics himself, particularly the cult of Pythagoras. Millennia ago, the Greek wizard Pythagoras had discovered the secrets of harmony in a blacksmith's shop, where he found simple mathematical ratios that related almost anything in the universe. The birth of empirical science was the birth of harmony, and wizards following Ficino led what Muggles call the Scientific Revolution. They just forget how much it was driven by magic. Even Isaac Newton himself was an alchemist, whose theories of mystical and magical unseen forces acting between all things led to the first true understanding of gravity, built partly on Pythagorean principles."

Harry's eyes had glazed over. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you're losing me."

"Honestly, Harry, you must remember the story of the path of wizards leading the Scientific Revolution, followed by the ignorant rejection of magic by Muggle scientists and the subsequent International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy signed in 1689." Her voice had became rhapsodic. "It was one of the most exciting lectures ever in the History of Magic! Weren't you paying any attention to Professor Binns at all?"

He was shaking his head at her, amused by her passion. "You know _no one_ paid in attention in that class. No one could _stay awake_ in that class other than you." Harry tried to bring her to her point. "I thought you were talking about music..."

"It was _music_ that drove science, Harry. For centuries, it was investigations into harmony and music that brought forth one of the greatest collaborations of Wizards and Muggles in history. And it was wizards like the astrologer Johannes Kepler who finally found the underlying Music of the Spheres that drove the planets in their orbits. The scientists only remember his laws of planetary motion, but Kepler always stated that the true order was to be found in celestial music that the planets made. He even called his entire treatise the _Harmony of the Universe_. Unfortunately, he was frequently distracted from his work by ignorant men who persecuted his mother for being a witch! And he was forced to defend her by resorting to scientific explanations of everything she had done." She sighed heavily. "If only Muggles and Wizards had continued to work together, we'd probably have understood this kind of magic long ago..."

"Hermione, now I feel like I'm _attending_ a class with Binns," he said in mock frustration. "Normally, I do like to hear your stories. But what does any of this have to do with dark wizards... and _us_?"

"Don't you see? The dark wizards were trying to harness the energies of celestial harmony, the resonance from the planets we talked about. But those forces, though very powerful, are too remote to have much influence on earth. It was their misguided attempt to summon a kind of music, because they knew they couldn't recreate the harmony they really needed."

He was now perplexed. "Are you saying if the Death Eaters wanted to take over the world, they just needed to start a sort of... rock band?"

Hermione started to laugh. "No, though normal musical harmony has a power itself. That's part of what allows it to bring forth such strong emotions. It can even control mystical energy..."

Harry's face lit up immediately. "Like the end of _Ghostbusters II_!" But then he looked down awkwardly, as did Hermione. Neither wanted to talk about _that_ movie.

Hermione continued. "But normal music's power is limited. As the ancient philosopher Boethius noted, there are three kinds of music: _musica mundana, musica humana,_ and _musica instrumentalis_. The first one, _musica mundana_ , is the harmony of the universe, which Kepler searched for and the wizards were obviously trying to use. _Musica instrumentalis_ is the power of normal music created by singing and instruments-"

He cut her off. "Let me guess, it's the other one."

Hermione smiled at him, happy he was finally beginning to follow. "Yes, _musica humana_ is the harmony created between people. It's what binds people to each other, parents to children, friends to friends... every kind of relationship based on caring and loyalty and love. It taps into the same types of energy as the universal music, channeling the _musica mundana,_ but it's more accessible. Dark wizards could never understand that; they could never move beyond their quests for power and their own selfishness. And that's ultimately what helped you in your final battle with Voldemort, Harry. The power of love from your mother saved you - it saved all of us."

"I knew that before you began your extended lecture... well, not about the _musica_ bit. But I thought we were trying to explain the fire we found here."

"The fireball in Stratford clearly was like the ones at the murders years ago. You remember that magical energies seemed to be depleted in the victims, as if some force had blown it out of them?"

Harry was finally seeing the connections. "Like the strange magical damping field that night."

"It wasn't a damping field. _M_ _usica mundana_ interacts with fundamental forces of the universe: the explosion of energy must have created an imbalance, temporarily disrupting normal magic, which is so much weaker. But there's one more piece, Harry, and I only made the connection by reading more about the fallout from musical research in the Scientific Revolution. It's about fundamentals."

"Fundamentals?"

"They are the basis of all harmony. Musical sounds are made up of many components, sounded at various frequencies, sometimes called harmonics. But we only hear one pitch from an instrument, even though there are all those different waves vibrating at different rates. That base pitch is called the fundamental. Magical energy from every wizard is like that too: all of the types of energy and spells we cast occur at different levels of energy, essentially a kind of vibration. But all of these join at a elemental level to create a fundamental vibration. If the fundamentals between two things are in a consonant harmonic relationship, it creates the strongest connection. It's that kind of vibration that the wand picks up on to resonate, the unique foundation of magic for each wizard." She paused, the corners of her mouth turning up, anticipating the logical connection she was about to make. "Now, Harry, imagine two wizards had vibrations that could interact together."

"You mean like my connection to Voldemort?"

Her burgeoning smile turned quickly into a frown, but then her eyes moved back toward him in curiosity. "Yes, of course! You had the same wand core. Your magic interacted because of that resonance, but it wasn't a good fit otherwise. The other elements of your magic - the harmonics - could never coalesce together at that fundamental level. In acoustical terms, the sound would be unfocused and noisy, like an out-of-tune bell. The musical vibrations would be off, you wouldn't-"

"...be on the same wavelength," concluded Harry.

Hermione was startled for a moment, but now smiled at him with a bit of awe. "Yes, Harry, that's... _exactly_ what I was going to say."

"It's just something the drummer at Casablanca always used to talk about. How when musicians played music together the right way, they would be able to respond and interact together without even thinking about it. He said it was like being 'on the same wavelength.'"

She had admired his intuitive leaps that sometimes took a short cut around her methodical logic, but it still mystified her sometimes. "Well, despite your potential connection with Voldemort, it was never a productive one, because the components of your whole philosophies of life repelled each other. That small amount of resonance was always destructive to both of you. But my theory is that the two of us..." She hesitated for a moment, knowing what this would imply. "...have developed an unique compatibility of our magical fundamentals over the years."

"How? You mean our magic resonates between us because it has some kind of – what did you say? - harmonic relationship?"

"I've never been able to explain it, but it makes so much sense now. Normally every wizard's magical energies are unique and variable. But when we're together, Harry, most of the time there's this overwhelming sensation of peace and tranquillity that comes over me. I tried to explain this to you before: it's like the world is somehow complete." She looked away from him, shyness coming over her.

"I know. I feel it too." He squeezed her hand, causing her to smile again. Harry was relieved to finally admit it aloud, but he couldn't understand the implications. He wasn't sure he even knew what to ask about it. "With all of this talk about these fundamental connections - I know we've always been best friends. But Hermione, are you saying we have a... er... something like a soulbond?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled a bit. "You've been watching too many movies. No, Harry, we weren't destined to have this connection from the dawn of time or from birth or whatever. That's nonsense, the stuff of sappy romance plots. This is something we created, _together_. I mean, you must remember when we first met. We didn't always get along so well. I was a bossy know-it-all bookworm, and you were-"

"A bit of an impulsive, undisciplined, self-absorbed prick." They laughed together.

"Now I wouldn't go that far. We were adolescent kids. But we built this connection over years of friendship: every obstacle we overcame together, every time we were there for each other - every one of those events must have gradually attuned our magic to each other. At first, we came together because of the potential we saw, and then as our friendship grew, we must have silently begun to feel that harmonious connection. It's what makes us feel so comfortable together, and the more time we spent with each other, the stronger the resonance grew."

"I get it, I think." He looked back over the boulders they had investigated earlier. "But how does any of this relate to the ashes of a table from our tent?"

"Well, you saw what happened that night with the old wizard, how you produced a fireball with barely any effort or thought. Wizards who have close relationships or work together for many years sometimes see a small kind of resonance that boosts their power together slightly. But nothing like we saw that night. Maybe back in the forest here we could have been attacked and used a spell like we did a couple months ago. Or perhaps some other event could have unbalanced our magic, excited stronger vibrations, which would have created a productive resonance." She bit her lip, as she contemplated how much she could dare to say. "That is, there are a few historical accounts of accidental magic produced from... romantic interactions." Her face reddened a bit.

Harry was now intrigued. After all these years, she had opened the door to finally talk about what happened. "Do you mean - this was something we could have created by dancing together?"

"I don't know, but I don't think so." She shook her head. "Probably not. It most likely required something of a... much higher intensity."

His eyes grew wide. "You mean, we shagged?"

"Harry!" A look of shock came across her face before she looked away again. "I... well, no. I mean, I don't think so. I was a girl, and I'd hadn't... you know, before..." Her cheeks now reddened more deeply. "I think I'd have known if..."

Her meaning dawned on him. "Oh..." He hadn't intended it, but there was a distinct tone of disappointment in his voice.

Hermione reacted without thinking, feeling like she had unintentionally wounded him. "Oh! I didn't mean... Not that the thought of you and me like that would be so horrific... Er, not that I've ever really thought about... I mean, that we... oh, bugger..." Her face, now crimson, fell into her hands.

Harry couldn't help laughing at how flustered she became. He put his hand on her back and rubbed it gently in a friendly manner. "Hermione, calm down. It's me here. This has to be the weirdest conversation I've ever had in my life, but no part of our lives has ever seemed normal. At this point, if you told me that the evidence suggested half of the Hogwarts faculty showed up that night in our tent to have a giant orgy together along with us before lighting your table on fire to roast marshmallows, I really wouldn't be surprised." He started laughing. "I mean, I can just see Flitwick chasing around Sprout, and I always thought McGonagall would like to have a go with Madame Hooch on her broomstick..."

Hermione's embarrassment gradually gave way to a fit of laughter. "That's so utterly absurd, Harry!"

"Well, clearly everyone on the planet has had some sort of bizarre fascination with the idea that we were lovers, so why not speculate on them? It certainly seems like everyone knew about us... well, everyone except the two of us..." The smile had now left his face.

Her laughter quickly subsided. "What do you mean?"

"If you're right about all of this harmony and resonance business, clearly Voldemort was worried about us spending too much time together, and for some reason I still cannot fathom, Snape ended up erasing our memories, apparently so we couldn't discover this. They all must have seen the potential for something we were too blind to see. Even Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?"

Harry was now staring out into the distance again. The clouds had begun to pass, as the sun descended lower in the sky. "He basically asked me during sixth year if we were dating, wondering why we spent so much time together. Of course, I told him we were friends, because we were. But now it seems like a strange question, given that he must had read my mind over the years. Why would he ask it?"

She puzzled over it for a few moments, her brow furrowed. "I can't actually believe this, but they were _monitoring_ us. Dumbledore must have sensed something, but he needed to know what you consciously felt, how it might influence what we might do." She looked back to Harry. "I wonder how much he actually knew."

"Not much, apparently. Or at least he didn't tell his portrait anything."

She looked at him in surprise. "How do you...? You went to Hogwarts?"

"Earlier this afternoon, as I was waiting for you," he explained. "McGonagall let me in. The portrait was very circumspect when I asked about us, and it was outright surprised when I said Snape might have given us a potion during the War. If Snape really did this, he must have acted on his own. But why? Why would he do this to us? How would it restore balance to hide this from us?"

"I don't know, Harry. Snape only knew parts of Dumbledore's plan. If the two of us discovered this resonance, what would we have done? At that time, we were pretty lost together. The potential power here is extraordinary, but no one knows how to control it, and it still wouldn't have helped defeat Voldemort unless the Horcrux within you was destroyed. And the ancient accounts suggest this magic is unstable and that resonance could easily become dangerously destructive. After all, we know that four wizards died because some Death Eaters tried to experiment with it, and that was only a tiny fraction of what a true harmonic connection might be able to create. " Her voice became quiet as she realized the ramifications. "We might have burned down the forest around us or even blown ourselves up before we figured it out."

Harry thought this over for a while. "You once said this resonant energy could tap into energy as the Elder Wand does. Dumbledore told me, when I saw him in that vision after the battle with Voldemort, that he kept the information about the Deathly Hallows from me because of their danger. He said he counted on you to slow me up in running after that sort of power, from being distracted from the Horcruxes. He knew you were always cautious. But would the two of us have been able to resist something like this, something that was actually _part of us_?"

"Whatever happened, it must have been enough for Snape to think that Dumbledore's plan was in jeopardy. There must have been a disruption that Dumbledore had never anticipated."

They both were silent for a few moments, before it dawned on Harry. "It was Ron."

"Ron?" Now it was her turn to be confused.

"Don't you remember? We were always together, the three of us. Dumbledore knew it, Snape knew it, Voldemort knew it, everyone knew it. You were the genius, and I had the gifts to fight, but Ron was always the faithful one, the loyal friend who stuck by us and kept us sane, kept us from following the more crazy ideas that came to us. Even when we fought occasionally, he would always be there if we were truly in need. How could Dumbledore predict that Ron would ever abandon _both_ of us?"

"He did leave Ron the deluminator," she noted.

"Yes, because he knew that you and Ron would always want to find me, in case I ever tried to go off on my own. That's why he gave you the clues too, so I'd depend on you. But Ron would always want to be with us, to hold the three of us together. Even someone like Dumbledore, though, couldn't have known what exactly we'd be doing, that we'd be walking around with a Horcrux locket around our necks for so long. How could he predict that it would only drive Ron away, but leave you with me? The idea that we'd be separated for many weeks, that the two of us would be abandoned with only each other, isolated from everyone..."

She followed the logic to its conclusion. "With no other distractions, alone in the wilderness together, it was only a matter of time before we..." She paused. "...discovered the power within us."

Harry couldn't help chuckling. "That's a nice euphemism for it, isn't it? 'Discovered the power within us'? You just implied a few minutes ago that we had a nearly unprecedented connection that was apparently, well, _hot_ enough to literally set things on fire. Isn't it obvious what happened?"

Hermione smirked playfully at him, now a bit more relaxed as the topic was finally out in the open. "I know what _you_ think happened, Harry. But there are still other explanations. The fire could have come from magic in some other way. Maybe there had been a battle, like what happened with the old wizard, and we-"

"Nothing was disturbed, and, you know, we did end up sleeping in the same bed." Harry was now grinning openly at her, daring her to deny it.

"Maybe for comfort... because we had discovered a new and terrifying magic..." She knew she was reaching.

He sighed in frustration. "We've been making these excuses for years, Hermione." He gathered his thoughts for a moment before standing up. "There's one more piece of evidence I think it's time you finally knew about. I need to take you somewhere else. Do you trust me?"

She looked up at him, uncertain about what else they might uncover. But she could see in his eyes that he needed to work through this. Rising from her seat, Hermione nodded and took his hand, before they disapparated with a _crack_.

* * *

The two appeared now within a forest, where the ground was covered with a light blanket of snow. The entire area was bathed in an orange glow as dusk approached. They stood near the shore of a frozen lake, their breath fogging out in the calm but frigid air.

"What is this place, Harry?"

He led her toward the ice-covered waters of a smaller pool that adjoined the larger lake. "We're in the Forest of Dean. This is where I found the Sword of Gryffindor, where Ron found me."

" _This_ is where you swam to get the sword? Under ice like this?" She looked over at him with an expression of bewilderment. "I heard the story, but standing here now - were you insane, Harry? What if Ron hadn't shown up at just that moment? What if you had drowned or become hypothermic? Why didn't you just come and get me?"

Harry was flummoxed. "Uh... daring, nerve, chivalry, valor..."

"Sounds like stupidity, if you ask me, Gryffindor or not. You could still have been valorous and daring with a lifeguard on duty, you know." She was smiling at him, but they both knew she was right.

He began to walk along the shore, and she took his arm, walking beside him, ever more conscious of the dying sun. "Hermione, the next time I see an ancient magical artifact buried under ice in a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere, I promise I'll come get you in the middle of the night and pull you out of bed, okay?"

She laughed softly, leaning closer to him. "Okay." There had been something playful in his voice, even flirtatious, but she wasn't quite ready to think about that. Right now, she felt like they were back in the wilderness together, except without the worries of the War, and Harry was keeping her warm and safe. And there was a tiny girlish part of her that was distinctly enjoying being alone with him, watching a beautiful winter sunset together.

"Anyhow, I didn't bring you here to debate my poor teenage choices." He paused, hesitating. "Ron never told you what he saw that night with the Horcrux, did he?"

"What do you mean?"

He was studying the ground in front of them as they walked. "All these years, I thought it was merely tapping into his insecurities. But the Horcrux was tied to Voldemort, just as I was. It knew what Voldemort was thinking, what he feared."

She now looked to him, perplexed. "I don't understand, Harry."

Harry stopped walking and let out a long sigh. "After Ron pulled me from the lake, the locket tried to stop Ron from destroying it. It wanted to keep him from trusting me, from trusting us. The Horcrux showed images of you and me, terrible visions of us rejecting him, saying we didn't care for him."

Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly. "He never told me." _That explains so much_ , she thought.

He continued, "I know it worried him for years. But the Horcrux's last image was of us, embracing..." He swallowed. "Kissing passionately. Right over here." He pointed to a large slab of rock elevated slightly from the ground around it. He might have been imagining it, but he thought he saw a thin, white line on the stone surface, perhaps created by the sword long ago. "The Horcrux was connected to Voldemort, and to me. Perhaps it not only showed Ron his fears, but also drew on Voldemort's thoughts..."

He bent down and examined the stone surface for a moment before turning and sitting down, feeling the coldness from the contact run through him. She joined him in silence, pushing herself close to him as they sat together, watching the final remnants of the sun pass below the horizon, the red rays glistening on the surface of the lake. They both unintentionally drew closer as the glow faded.

She finally broke the silence. "I know what you're thinking, Harry. I know you've always suspected something happened between us that night. But we've been over this years ago. No matter what strange vision happened on this spot, that's just one lost memory..."

"Hermione, it wasn't just one memory."

She looked up at him, a new look of concern on her face.

Harry took another deep breath, before he continued. "Remember when I told you about the strange sensations about the Yule Ball, the memories in the album that Dumbledore sent me?"

"You dismissed that, said you were mistaken."

He didn't meet her eyes. "For years, I _did_ think I had imagined it. But after what happened at the restaurant, I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't tell you either, because of the emotions it brought out. It didn't bring back memories, but it's like it brought them into a new light. My head was throbbing and... All the time we had spent together as friends when we were young - it's like I suddenly remembered how deeply I cared about you, sometimes in a way that... felt like something more." He stared off across the lake.

She followed his eyes into the distance as she sat up slightly, though still wanting to remain in contact with him for his warmth. Her mind flashed back to that night at Hogwarts, also when they had sat by a lake together, the night she first realized how deeply he felt. But there was no moon tonight, nothing to stave off the encroaching darkness on that frozen landscape. "I think something like that happened to me too. That night at Hogwarts, with Draco - after you were injured, and you said..." Somehow, after all they had been through, she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. "I felt something Harry, something I didn't feel again until that night at Stratford. I didn't know what to make of it either. I thought I was just so upset at the thought of you dying. But it was as you said, like memories of our time together grew more powerful." She hesitated as she chose her words. "I... I never felt more strongly about us."

"I didn't imagine it..." Harry mumbled, before turning to look at her, thoughts long buried coming back to the surface. The earlier wind had left her hair somewhat wild, and he brushed back some strands away to stare more deeply at her face. The shadows of the twilight softened her features, and she was once again the young girl who had stayed with him in the forest so long ago. "As you said once, it was never one day with us."

Not quite able to process the look in Harry's eyes right now, she dropped her gaze and sighed deeply as she thought for a few moments. "The potion must have had a second component. Even though Snape's skills were legendary, I had no idea he was capable of something like this."

"A _second_ component?"

"As Draco told you, I don't think the main effect was to affect our memories. The primary function was supposed to confound us, to prevent us from understanding the truth about the harmonic connection between us. Any hint of that understanding must have been erased, which I assume is why we still can't remember that night completely. Snape couldn't have known when we might learn about it, and the confounding charm acted on anything we knew. That memory might be gone forever. Based on my research with the ancient scrolls, it seems clear that some wizards feared such forces enough to theorize a type of potion to counteract the effects temporarily. Like the resonance, it would have to be specifically attuned to us, and only someone with Snape's abilities likely could have created one. It would act as a sort of reverse love potion, suppressing the feeling that would draw us toward the connection."

A light dawned for Harry. "Which is why you felt almost like a sibling to me afterward. I mean, at school you were always a kind of sister to me, though it was always deeper too. But that explains why I was mildly repulsed by you, with your wild hair and drool when I woke up next to you..." She pulled back from him a bit, and Harry rapidly became apologetic. "I... I didn't mean it to sound that way. It's just that it did feel so wrong and strange, even though I knew how close we had always been. I think any other day, I'd have been happy to wake up next to you... er, I mean..." Now Harry's head fell downward, shaking in his hands.

At this point, it was easier for them both to pretend to ignore what he had just said, even though Hermione had to smile to herself for a moment. "Harry, my point is that effect wouldn't be enough. Even Snape couldn't brew a potion that would suppress such powerful magic permanently; like Amortentia, the potion's effects would eventually be undermined. If he really didn't want us to realize our connection, Snape needed to go deeper. He had been practicing Legilimency on you. He had been in your mind so many times, and he likely saw into my mind too. He must have known what we felt, even if we couldn't figure out how to express it to each other. The only way would be to confound our memories and ensure that we never could see that potential for ourselves. But I can't believe he actually succeeded; only someone with his boundless magical creativity could have targeted a potion so precisely, without even a single trial..."

Harry suddenly stood and took a few steps toward the lake, looking away from her into the deepening gloom around them. "You're sitting here analyzing his technical achievements. But he... he took away our... love." He had finally forced his mouth to utter the word. It sounded cheap and overly romantic, but they needed to stop dancing around the issue.

The pain in his voice struck her to her core, even though she struggled to remain rational. "No, we had our friendship, Harry. We always had that. Snape could never take _that_ love, which has carried us through everything. The memories were just refocused, until we found them again. He needed us to focus on Dumbledore's plan, not on each other." A shudder passed through her beyond the winter chill, as she recalled a memory she tried never to think of - Harry's lifeless body being carried in Hagrid's arms. "Dumbledore had told him you had to die, that you had to be sacrificed. Snape probably thought of this as just another sacrifice."

"It wasn't his choice to make!" he cried out over the ice, his voice echoing before being absorbed into frozen snow.

Hermione heard his helplessness, his anger. But there was nothing to be done. She tried to work out a rationale in her mind that could explain it all. "Draco said Voldemort had forced Snape's hand, and he couldn't reveal his true allegiance. I don't know all the answers, Harry, but he must have believed it was the right decision."

Harry stood motionless for several seconds before returning to sit beside her again. He seemed unusually nervous and agitated, avoiding her eyes. Night was fully upon them now, and he stared up into the heavens. She followed his gaze, awed by the multitude of stars now visible in the Milky Way. They had both forgotten how truly alone they had been in the wilderness together. Hermione then looked back to his face, concerned at the anxiety she saw there.

Finally, he spoke softly, "We've been speculating for hours, but this is all worthless. We need to test your theory." His voice now carried a note of resolution.

"I... I don't understand."

"I don't care why they did it, but they took this from me... from us. For the first half of my life, I always felt like everything was beyond my control. First, with the Dursleys, and then the continuous struggle against Voldemort, with all of the prophecies and everyone - Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape - scheming about our lives without telling us. But I could _always_ trust you. You were the first person who didn't look at me as the Chosen One, as some pawn in a larger plan. You were the first part of my life that was always true and pure and..."

His voice trailed off. She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his, needing him to know she was still there... _always_.

They sat in silence, but his tension only seemed to grow. His voice began again, full of emotion, "Everything was taken from me, and I could deal with it. I always had to accept it, but not this... not _you_..." He suddenly turned to her with a look of desperation. "I need to know, Hermione. Just one time, with you... I need to know what we might have lost..."

Harry then did something he had never before dared to do. His fingers brushed back a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Then his hand slowly continued to the back of her neck, gently threading his fingers through her hair, as his eyes dropped to her lips. His glance quickly flew up again as he gazed deeply into her brown eyes, his embrace now bringing their faces close.

Even in the shadows, she could see everything in those green eyes: anger, hurt, frustration, and now yearning, giving way to an outpouring of emotion for her. And she couldn't fight it anymore. A part of her she had never allowed a voice was now crying out, as she gave into the forces driving them together. Was it her loneliness and despondency in the past weeks, the physical closeness she and Harry so recently shared, perhaps even a remnant of dark magic from the Horcrux? It didn't matter. She could see his need to know, his need _for her_ , and nothing else mattered in her world. She closed her eyes, ready for him, eager to give herself to him completely. A wave of heat passed over her entire body, warming her in the cold night air as his arms drew her close.

But then time stopped. Hermione could feel his hot breath on her lips, only a hair's breadth away. He had halted, and she knew immediately that he couldn't demand this of her. She needed to assent, to cross the final threshold with him, the point from which they might never be able to return. And in that moment she remembered: he had pulled her back from the brink years ago, had been able to see clearly when she couldn't. He didn't know what was right any longer; she had to think for both of them now.

Her lips turned downward, as she buried her face in his neck. "We can't..."

A moment passed before his voice came softly to her ear. "It doesn't matter. I think we have our answer anyway."

And suddenly she was aware that the heat was still upon her, warming her from the winter chill. It hadn't been an illusion. She opened her eyes to see dozens of trees alight around them. The entire forest seemed to be in flame.

Harry was instantly on his feet, casting an _Aguamenti_ , and a few seconds later Hermione joined him, water rushing forth from their wands, causing billowing smoke to erupt from the conflagration around them. They moved away from each other, trying to expand their efforts, but it seemed to have little effect. The roar of the fire grew louder, as most of the water dissipated into steam the moment it came in contact with the raging inferno.

"Don't cross the streams!" he yelled.

"Why?" she called back over the din of the fire.

"It would be bad."

"What are you talking about?!" _Is he really doing this now?_ She had just been about to _kiss_ this insane man?

"Uh... something about total protonic reversal?"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, THAT MOVIE IS NOT..." An enormous dead tree, already weakened by the flames, now crashed down beside them, scattering sparks up into the heavens. And with the sun now gone, the settling of the night air brought a fresh steady breeze above them, which carried the fire farther away, catching hibernating trees in its wake. The patches of light snow on the ground seemed to do nothing as dead leaves and fallen branches were set alight.

She halted her spell and ran to Harry. "This isn't working. It's not enough, and the effect of our magic is probably weakened by the energy that created the fire anyway. This entire forest will go up in flames if we don't stop this soon."

He stopped and turned to her, coughing at the smoke rising about them. "What else can we do?"

She only thought for a moment before a tiny grin came to her face. "We'll cross the streams."

"Huh?"

"Harry, you're brilliant!" She leaned over and was about to kiss his cheek, but thought better of it. They didn't need to make this fire worse. Instead, she looked intently into his eyes. "I don't quite know how all of this works. But Harry, I need you to close your eyes and think of me. Think of... _us_. Our happiest memories together... Can you do that?" He wasn't sure what she was asking, but then she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and whispered in his ear. "Focus on how you feel about me. I know we can do this together."

She pulled back and saw his eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. She walked to the side of the lake, staring down at the ice and holding forth her wand. Closing her eyes, she thought of him, dared again to feel the depth of what she had never been quite able to express. She had always had a bit of trouble even with spells like the Patronus Charm; her intellect seemed to get in the way of her emotions, and what she would now attempt was significantly more powerful and difficult. Nevertheless, she focused her mind and intoned a long incantation. " _Copulet nobis fundamentum harmoniae velut si ex_ _ _una essentia_ facti simus, ut musica mundana in aquam exsolvat. Surgat lacus ex glacie et incendium exstinguatur!_"

Somehow, she could now hear his heart pulsing with her own, joining their rhythms as one as she began to breath hard and fast. He was carrying her along with him, their love bringing them together in a deeper connection than she had ever imagined. And then it happened. Hermione opened her eyes to see a large fountain of water burst forth through the surface of the frozen lake, sending enormous shards of ice flying outward, their whiteness gleaming in the glow from the flames. She could feel him, closer than they had ever been physically, every part of his being within her, his energy coursing through her. She threw her arms upward, directing her wand into the heavens, and two more thick columns of water shattered the surface, throwing forth another icestorm as jets of water leapt high in the air. She could barely handle this power as she propelled the water aloft toward the forest, dousing the inferno around them.

But Harry's magic was too much for her. Her entire body was sparking with electricity, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her. She became overwhelmed as two more dark jets rose from the lake, joining with the other streams, seeming to coalesce into one enormous column of icy water. It took all her strength to send the tempest forth and quench the last of the fires. But then she lost all control, as the hovering water sprayed forth in all directions. A stream landed on Harry, drenching him thoroughly as he was thrown to the ground from the force of the impact.

Hermione had fallen to her knees, completely overcome as the magic slowly dissipated. Aftershocks continued to pulse throughout her body, leaving her drained and disoriented for over a minute. But a cold wind suddenly rushed in her ears and drove her back to awareness. In an instant she was on her feet and ran to Harry, her face flushed, still panting when she arrived. She knelt down and pulled him into an embrace. "Are you all right?"

He was deathly pale and shivering uncontrollably. Through chattering teeth, he managed to get out, "You know... m-m-most girls would just tell a g-g-guy to go take a c-c-cold shower..."

"Harry, this is serious. We need to get you out of here, now." She stooped in close to him and grabbed his hand. "Hold on."

* * *

A moment later, they apparated into the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, arriving on the thick antique rug before the fireplace. Hermione pulled a blanket from a nearby chair. "It was well below freezing out there. You're soaked." She yanked his boots off and then sat him up on the floor to remove his coat, before peeling his wet shirt from his frame, revealing his bare chest, whiter than she had ever seen him. All the while, his body was spasming out of control from the shivering. She shed her coat in an instant and pulled him close, wrapping her arms tightly around him as she pulled the blanket over the two of them. She turned to the fireplace, but it seemed to erupt into flames on its own.

"Her... Hermione?" he stammered. "Are you tr-tr-trying to create another h-h-happy memory for me? Because..."

She nearly whispered into his shoulder, "Shh... I _am_ a trained healer. We need to prevent hypothermia." His body still felt ice cold to her and his lips had a bluish tint. She pulled her blouse off in a quick motion, only a thin camisole now between them as she embraced him even more tightly.

A minute passed. She was running her hands over his back, creating friction, and he finally started to feel a bit warm again before he spoke. "And just how many patients at St. Mungo's did you treat this way? It must have been a popular therapy..."

"Just shut up, Harry. Your body temperature was dropping precipitously." The shivering finally began to calm. "Believe me. I'm trying to help."

"Oh, I _want to believe_ , Hermione. I was once told the best way to generate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with somebody else who is already naked."

She groaned, not in pleasure, but at his continued antics. "It's not going to rain sleeping bags tonight, Harry." But even as she said that, she had become suddenly aware of just how close he felt, their chests and bodies pressed as close as they could be. Two sets of hands were now moving beneath the blanket, caressing each other's backs as the fire grew significantly brighter.

He spoke again. "You know, that night at the frozen lake years ago, Ron actually pulled me out after I _swam_ in it. Somehow, Ron and I didn't end up like this..."

Abruptly, she let out a growl of annoyance and threw the blanket off of herself. She stood, rolling her eyes the entire time. "Just take off your trousers," she commanded.

His breath stopped short as he looked up at her in disbelief. "I... I was kid-"

But she was already walking away from him, heading toward his bedroom. "You're right, Harry. There are easier ways. Take off your trousers, and I'll bring you some fresh clothes."

In a couple minutes, she returned to see him curled up in a ball sitting in front of the fire, the blanket wrapped loosely around him. His bare feet and legs glowed warmly in the light from the flames, and she was glad to see a little color returning to his face. But he still looked cold and alone. She desperately fought the urge to resume their embraces, to run to him and bury herself under that blanket with him. But her fears halted her: there were so many reasons she couldn't do that, not the least of which was a novel concern that they'd unintentionally set the house on fire.

Hesitantly, she approached him and held out the dry clothes. He looked up at her, a bit perplexed at her sudden change in attitude, but took what she offered and began to dress. She picked up the remnants of their clothing that had been strewn about the floor, setting his to dry and slipping her blouse back over her head. Eventually, she joined him back on the floor in front of the fire, deliberately sitting a short distance away from him.

She finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry... That got a bit out of hand."

Harry began to laugh incredulously. "Which part? The part when we set a forest ablaze because we stared at each other a little too closely, the part where you brought forth an icy tempest that Poseidon himself would be envious of, or the part where we reenacted a somewhat more explicit version of some _X-Files_ shipper episode in front of the fireplace?"

She shook her head and sighed. "The last one. I should have been prepared for this. It happened before, after all."

"I think I would have remembered that..."

"No, Harry. After you fought the dark wizards at Stratford, I know we felt the urge to be close, even in that crazy situation. And I just started randomly saying... odd things?" She looked down, embarrassed. They hadn't discussed that element of that strange night either.

"Oh... You mean when you started doing your best DeForest Kelley impression? I meant to compliment you on your geekiness. Though I always imagined you as more of a _Next Generation_ fan, with Dr. Crusher and all."

Her face turned a shade of pink. "Why's that, Sir Patrick? Because Captain Picard seemingly spent that entire series wanting to get into her pants?"

The color now truly returned to his cheeks. "I... I didn't mean..."

She smirked. "I'm kidding, Harry. Two can play at your constant TV and film banter, you know." Her expression grew serious again. "But that night... It was wrong. Roger was dying."

"I somehow think he would have appreciated it, even saw it as a final tribute."

"Be that as it may, I didn't mean to say those things. They just came out of me, without a thought." She looked back at him. "I'm sure it was the resonant magic. It left a residual connection between us; that was a part of you still manifesting within me, eliciting those reactions. When we're both focused together, it's overwhelming. Normally, the harmonious qualities bring us close and settle our spirits. But drawing that sort of energy - it must create an enormous imbalance within us, just as it disrupts magic in the physical world around it. And afterward that balance needs to be restored." She crossed her arms and tried to calm herself without going to him. "I'm sorry... when I brought us back here, you were right: I wasn't thinking clearly. Your core temperature wouldn't have dropped so quickly that it required emergency attention. I... I just needed to feel you close."

A tiny smile crept across his mouth. "I wasn't objecting."

"Harry, I know you make jokes to avoid talking seriously, but we need to address this. This entire situation is far out of control. We've been through a lot of strange things lately, but this isn't right. It isn't fair to our families."

He sighed, not looking at her. "I'm not sure Ginny would care anyway."

"What?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Unless something changes, I'm pretty sure we'll end up separating soon."

Hermione now remembered the fresh stack of boxes in the bedroom when she had retrieved Harry's clothes. They weren't there when she was at Grimmauld Place last week. _How much time is he spending here?_ "I don't understand. I know things haven't always gone smoothly between you, but you never fought like Ron and I did."

"Actually, I think that's the problem. For so many years, things were fine - no, honestly, they were _great_ with her. But now we're such different people that we almost can't be bothered to care enough to fight. We barely even talk anymore."

She finally understood the depth of sadness she saw in him earlier, a feeling of defeat she knew all too well. "But the two of you... even at Hogwarts, you were always the couple that seemed meant to be."

Harry finally turned his face to her, with that look of hurt in his eyes again. "After what happened tonight, can you honestly say that with a straight face? Whatever's between us, apparently both sides in the War felt the need to conspire to keep us apart!"

Looking down, she realized she didn't have the strength to hold back from him much longer. He was lost, and she wanted nothing more in the world than to lose herself along with him. But this wasn't right; it wasn't supposed to happen like this. "It doesn't matter, Harry. We may know more now, but it doesn't change the fact that it was all decades ago. We have families we need to look after. They wouldn't understand this, whatever _this_ even is anymore." She paused as she tried to figure out how to reason with him. "I'm sure you can still work things out with Ginny. I can see now that you still care deeply about her and obviously about your family. We can't disrupt that."

He was silent for a long time, staring into the flames in front of him. "Do you love me?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Do you love me?" he repeated.

She didn't look at him, trying to ignore the implication she knew he meant to convey. "Harry, you've been my best friend for decades. Of course I do."

He turned, now looking at her intently. "Do you _love_ me?"

 _We can't do this._ She stood and walked a few steps away, unable to trust herself so near to him. "There are other people to think of. I can't be that person... the other woman. I can't be responsible..."

"You aren't. You did nothing to create the problems Ginny and I have had. But it's very simple. Right here, right now, we are just two people. _Do you love me_ , Hermione?"

Her voice wavered. "You _can't_ ask me that."

There was a _crack_ , and then he was left alone with his thoughts.

Harry turned back to gaze into the fire, knowing he shouldn't try to follow her. It would only make things worse now. He didn't even know why he had pushed her to say what both of them already knew, what both of them had felt within every fiber of their being earlier that night. Some part of him just needed confirmation that his world still made sense, that there was at least some reason for their involuntary sacrifice long ago.

But she was right: everything had moved too fast, had spiraled completely out of control. Neither of them was thinking clearly.

After all these years, they both needed time.

* * *

 **Footnote:** February 3, 2016 was the date of an interview with Rupert Grint, admitting not only that he thought Ron would be divorced from Hermione by then, but that he'd be living on his own in a one-bedroom apartment without a job. Obviously this does not have canonical status, but it certainly tracked with the earlier JKR revelations about marriage counseling, etc., as well as the few R/Hr hints offered in her Rita Skeeter updates at the Wizard World Cup.


	11. Ch 10: Wish Fulfillment - 1 Sep 2017

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** Happy Epilogue Day, everyone! Now we get to find out what _really_ happened. Note there are a couple crucial facts that are not explicitly stated or referenced in the original DH epilogue, which allowed this chapter to begin as it does. (Here any subsequent clarifications by JKR were ignored; the literal text is accepted as canonical.)

Apologies for the length, but there's a lot to cover. And rather than having a few more chapters of angsty awfulness tracing the past two years, it's summarized in a couple extended flashbacks here, so we can get past all of that.

Note: Rated M for some adult situations toward the end. Nothing _too overtly_ explicit, but things might get heated... and a bit silly.

Also, Harry and Hermione deserve their own (brief) epilogue after putting up with all of this. Look for that as the final chapter after this one.

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: Wish Fulfillment**

 _Nineteen months later... September 1, 2017_

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. A woman in a long light-colored coat emerged from the lobby door and was surprised by the chill. She pulled her collar together. _As crisp as an apple_ , she thought to herself.

"Come along, Rose!" she called. "Your father's running late, but he'll be here any minute. We can't miss the train." A boy came through the doorway and took her hand. She smiled softly down at him. A moment later the girl stepped out, nodding to the doorman who helped her struggle with a large trunk. The three stood outside only a minute before a car pulled up.

"Bloody hell, the traffic in this part of town is awful!" the slightly balding redhead exclaimed as he got out.

The brown-haired woman shook her head, laughing. "I told you we could have just taken a cab." Ron began to load the luggage into the car and opened the doors for the children. Hermione walked over and put her hand on his. "Are you sure you're all right?" She glanced at the car.

"I passed the test with flying colors, I'll have you know. Besides, I really wanted to do this, _for all of us_." Ron looked off into the distance, and her look of concern turned into a small smile. He saw her expression change from the corner of his eye. "Well, come on then!"

A minute later they were all in the car, as Ron navigated the downtown traffic. Hermione gradually relaxed; he was actually better at driving than she had imagined. "It's good to see you looking so well. How are things at the store?" she asked.

"Brilliant. Business is better than as ever. And the three foreign shops we opened are doing terrific. George is barely able to keep up inventory with all the orders." He smiled, though he was concentrating on the road, continuously shifting his eyes among all the mirrors.

"It was a great idea, Ron. I'm so glad you're finally finding some success."

"Well, it's good, but it's not like you..." His smile thinned, and she looked out the window. They fell into silence for a few minutes.

The children stirred in the back seat. "How much longer will it be, Mum?" asked Hugo. "I'm starting to feel a bit ill."

Hermione cracked open the car window. "Just a little while." She looked over at Ron. "So, they're going to be there, right?"

"As far as I know, they're bringing the whole crew."

She thought back to a conversation they had had so long ago in their kitchen at their old house. She squeezed his shoulder. "I'm happy you did this. It will be a bit awkward, but I'm glad we can all still do this together."

* * *

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stood together on the platform. They had found each other several minutes ago and had recently spotted Draco Malfoy. Harry looked over, and Draco nodded to him, before turning away.

James ran up to them, out of breath. "Teddy's back there. Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire." None of the adults said anything, though Hermione suppressed a grin as she sighed softly to herself. "Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing-"

"You interrupted them?" said Ginny. Her eyes went briefly to her brother, but then settled on Harry and Hermione, now standing close together, side-by-side. "You are so like Ron-"

"...And he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's snogging her!"

"Oh it would be lovely if they got married!" Lily whispered, her voice rhapsodic. "Teddy would really be a part of the family then!"

"He already comes round for dinner about four times a week," Harry said. "Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?"

They continued discussing Teddy for a moment, but it was soon time for the children to board the train. Rose and James said their goodbyes, but things did not go as smoothly with Albus. He finally whispered to Harry, "What if I'm in Slytherin?"

Harry and Ginny shared a look. _I'm glad we're both here for him right now_ , he thought. Harry let out a deep breath as he crouched down to talk privately with his son, his mother's green eyes staring back at him. "Albus Severus, you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin, and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew." Harry's view of Snape had become more clouded in the past year, though he still greatly admired his sacrifices. But now was not the time for Albus to doubt the source of his middle name.

"But just say-"

"Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"Really?"

Harry realized he had never told anyone of his conversation with the Sorting Hat. He whispered even more quietly, "It did for me." Albus raised his eyebrows, but then sighed as he looked down, now sad again at the thought of leaving. Harry reached out and lifted his chin, smiling lovingly at his son. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." Harry clapped him lightly on the shoulder. Albus rolled his eyes before boarding the train.

All the children were now on board, and the four adults, along with Hugo and Lily, stood together, waving farewell. Everyone seemed to be staring in their direction, but Harry and Hermione paid them little notice.

As the train rounded a corner, Harry was still thinking of his younger son. Ginny's voice came softly from next to him, "He'll be alright."

Harry looked over at her and sighed, finally lowering the hand he had raised to say goodbye. _We made it through this and worse, and we'll always be there for him together._ He raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair, but hesitated as he felt his scar, yet another reminder of injuries now past. _Things do heal with time._ "I know he will," he finally said.

" _CUT!_ Did we get all of that?" yelled a small man several yards away down the platform. A seated cameraman nodded. "Good. This will make a great finale to our _Potter Chronicles_ series, seeing the next generation off to school. Good job, everyone! That's a wrap!"

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all heaved a huge sigh. Lily and Hugo ran down the platform to see whether they could get a final glance at the train. They paid little attention to the camera crew, who were now packing up.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter!" The director came running up to Harry. "Everything was great! I think we'll just need to do a few edits for time, but we followed the script almost perfectly..."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about? What script? We just said goodbye to our kids going off to school." Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were equally confused.

"Oh, I thought you knew about it." The director motioned to a young female assistant, who handed over a few pages. "A decade ago, back when you first did one of these short family films for us, a witch sent in a prediction she had foreseen of your family heading off to Hogwarts. What was her name? A bunch of initials, I think. She said she had a great wish to see all of you together like this, and the vision just came to her. Anyhow, we used it to plan some shots today, but even I was surprised at the accuracy of this prophecy. The visuals and dialogue almost all lined up."

Ron was shaking his head in wonder. " _Bloody hell._ You mean, someone predicted our future nearly perfectly?"

"No, no. Certainly not the details of your lives. But prophecies are always a bit murky that way, you know? The details you do see can be misleading." He was skimming through the script again, muttering to himself. "Yes, everything was great, except for that _ad lib_ , Mr. Potter." The director turned to his assistant. "We can edit that out, right?" The assistant nodded.

"What are you talking about an _ad lib_?" Harry's confusion was turning into annoyance.

"Uh, what was the phrase? 'Here's lookin' at you, kid'?"

"It's a great line!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione and Ginny both rolled their eyes.

"Well, we planned the timings according to the script, so we'll just fix it all in post-production. Again, thanks to you all. Great work, people!" He turned abruptly and headed off, barking to his assistant, who was furiously taking notes.

The four were left behind, standing side-by-side and a bit stunned that they had been unknowingly following a script. Ginny finally spoke, "Well, I don't know what all this is about, but that's over with. Your idea was a pain in the arse, Ron, though given everything that has happened the past couple years, I think it was good to have us together like this. Hopefully it will keep Skeeter and the other tabloid jerks from speculating on our lives for a while."

Harry turned to her. "Ginny, I'm glad we still could do this, together."

Ginny shook her head and smiled softly, before she took his hand and squeezed it. "You know we're okay, right? Just because we're not living together anymore doesn't mean we don't care what happens. We'll be there for the kids, and for our families. That hasn't changed for me."

Harry nodded. "I know. I'm just sor-"

"No, Harry. Stop. It just happened, and it wasn't meant to be." Ginny sighed again as she looked in the direction of the train, now far in the distance. "Listen, I'll take the kids for a few minutes and head back to the car. You have your 'Hogwarts trio' moment without the cameras rolling, okay?"

Now only three remained on the platform, silently watching the final remnants of smoke dissolve. "So much for divination being a load of bullshit, eh?" said Harry. Hermione gave him a playful shove on his shoulder.

They stared for another few moments, before she reached out and took a hand from each of them in her own. "Well, we made it. Things may not have always gone the way we expected, but it means a lot to me that the three of us are standing here together."

She released Harry's hand and turned to Ron, giving him a warm hug, which Ron somewhat awkwardly returned. She pulled back and said quickly, "I need to get going. I should check in at the Ministry this morning. Hugo's going with you and your parents for the next few days, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be weird for him."

Hermione shook her head, eyes a bit watery. "I know. But it'll be good for him at the Burrow with family. And I'm sure Ginny will bring Lily by?" She looked to Harry, who gave a gentle nod of encouragement.

With a sigh, she now turned and took both of Harry's hands in hers. "And you..." She composed herself and put on a smile. "You're still coming over for dinner tonight?" He couldn't help smiling in reply. "Good. We need to catch up on some things, and I might have a surprise for you." She grinned mischievously, then quickly leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "I really have to go! See you later."

And with a _crack_ , she disapparated, leaving Harry grinning like an idiot, hands still held up where hers had just been. He closed his eyes just for a moment to relive the warm feeling on his cheek.

"Why don't you two just get a room already?" Ron's voice abruptly broke into Harry's thoughts.

"What? Ron, I mean-" He was completely flustered.

"Don't tell me I'm delusional this time, mate. Everyone else sees the two of you like always, with your platonic little hugs and kisses and hand-holding. But I can tell something's been changing with you the past few months."

"We never..." Harry stammered. "That is, we haven't done-"

"Do you think I can't see that too! Harry, I've known both of you for over twenty-five years. And for most of that time, I saw two best friends who had a weird tendency toward continuous public displays of affection. But this is different now. I may have had my suspicions years ago, but that was part of my own insecurity that I needed to work on. A few years of counseling have done wonders for that, by the way..."

"Yeah, I can tell. Twins, Ron?" Harry let out a chuckle.

Ron was aghast. "The _Daily Prophet_ blew that whole thing last week out of proportion! I didn't even know! One minute I was telling old war stories to a lovely young woman in a pub. Then I went to the bar for another beer, and when I came back, they had swapped on me. Two beers later, and I thought I was seeing double. But then the two of them were leading me out of the pub together, which is where that photo came from." Ron was hanging his head. "I didn't even do anything with them, just had a few drinks. I'm just glad Hermione managed to hide the morning paper before the kids could see it."

Harry was still laughing. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You deserve some fun, anyhow. It's time you got on with your life."

Ron now looked up at Harry with a serious expression. "You're the one to talk! Look, whether you two bloody morons know it or not, you have been making lovey-dovey eyes at each other for months now. I may not be the big hero or the super-smart one in this friendship, but I can just feel the tension oozing off of the two of you."

Harry's face became serious, too. "I'm not sure what to do, Ron. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Not you, not Ginny, not the kids, not her..." He didn't quite know what to say. "She and I... we never-"

"Harry," Ron interrupted. "I don't know what went on with the two of you in the past, but I know you would never hurt Ginny or me. Hell, my marriage wouldn't have lasted half as long without you helping us through our squabbles. And that's why I need to return the favor, mate. I can't deny there's a part of me that feels really weird about this, but she and I have been done for years now. There's no sense wasting even more time."

Harry was still fidgeting, one of his hands anxiously squeezing the back of his neck. Ron felt like he wasn't getting through. "Hey, you remember that night at the Leaky Cauldron before we got married?" Harry nodded. "Do you love her?" Harry stared down for a long time, before nodding slowly. Ron continued, "Of course you do. You always have, and now you just love her even more. _Tell her_."

"But Ginny-"

"Harry, it's over. You signed the papers months ago."

"She kept my name."

"Of course she did, mate. Everyone knows her as Ginny Potter. It's been her professional name for over a decade. And who wouldn't want the kind of attention it gets?" Harry sighed, but realized he was right. Ron continued, leaning in a bit, "Don't tell anyone I said this, but I'm pretty sure Ginny's already been hanging out with some former professional Quidditch captain. She doesn't want to hurt you either. But believe me, Harry, she's trying to move on."

Harry was somewhat taken aback by the news, but the shock passed quickly. "I do want her to be happy. But this isn't just some random woman for me here. It's Hermione."

"Yeah, well... Ginny always assumed the two of you shagged like bunnies when you were in that tent alone during the War anyway."

"WHAT!?"

Ron was now laughing loudly. "I'm kidding you. Well, sort of. We _all_ thought something had to happen with you guys back then. All the tension of the War, two lonely teenagers together in the middle of nowhere... And with how close you were, I mean, come on. Point is, I don't believe Ginny's wild imagination anymore, but she wouldn't exactly be surprised if the two of you ended up together."

Harry was now lost in thought. He knew all of the rumors, but he never thought that even his friends – even his former wife – had believed them. But more importantly, he didn't know if _he_ believed them, at least partly. He began to feel guilty that Ron didn't know about all of that, but how could he tell him? Harry didn't even know the whole truth himself.

Just then, Ginny appeared on the platform again, with the children in tow. "Are you two done reminiscing? The kids are getting restless."

Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder as they started to walk toward their cars. He was now speaking quietly, "You need to look to yourself for once and not worry about anyone else. It's time, mate. Let her know. Because if you don't, I'm pretty sure the situation is going to explode sooner or later, which won't be good for anyone."

 _You have no idea_ , Harry thought.

* * *

Hermione arrived in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic and headed toward her office. Numerous wizards said passing greetings to her, to which she absently replied.

A sense of loss crept through her as she thought of Rose on the train. Although she didn't want to be too overprotective, she would have to make some excuse to head to Hogwarts one day next week to check on her. She thought back to the train platform, and the strange script for their morning came to her mind as well. She still had no idea what to make of that. _The future can't be determined that precisely, can it? Surely we can make our own choices..._

She then thought to James and the news about Teddy Lupin and Victoire, kissing goodbye on the platform. Hermione was thrilled for them, and it brought back her memory of two weeks ago...

 _Hermione was in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, cleaning dishes without magic. Sometimes she found it soothing to clean them the Muggle way, as she had as a child. Teddy wandered into the kitchen, bringing the last of the plates from the table. Harry was off getting all the kids ready for bed._

 _Teddy looked anxious as he took some clean glasses from her and began to dry them. "Hermione, can I ask you something?"_

" _Of course. What's on your mind?"_

 _Teddy hesitated, gathering courage. "How do you know if a girl wants to be more than friends?"_

 _Hermione smiled to herself, as she moved some rinsed plates from one sink to the other. "Well, I'm probably not the expert on that question. I didn't exactly have the most typical teenage years. But if you're talking about Victoire, I'd say you have nothing to worry about."_

 _Teddy blushed deeply. "But," he paused, "what I mean is – we've been friends for so long, and we're always together. I just don't know if she wants more than that, you know? And she's headed off to school soon..."_

" _I thought you two got together years ago. What about all that fuss at the Wizard World Cup?"_

 _Teddy's face grew even deeper red than before. "Well, Skeeter was right that we were caught kissing. But it was only once, and it was our first time." He looked down. "I mean, it sounds hard to believe, but we were both inexperienced, and she thought we could try a sort of... kissing lesson, so we could learn together. After all the coverage in the press, we both freaked out, and we never talked about it again."_

 _She looked over at him, now more serious. "Anyone can see from the way the two of you are together that you care about each other deeply. You've known each other for years. I can't tell you how she thinks, but I would wager that at least part of her feels the way you clearly do. Girls don't offer 'kissing lessons' to everyone, Teddy." A small smile crossed her lips and she shook her head. "Talk to her. With a friendship like yours, it will survive a lot of things." She looked back into the sink, before continuing. "Time passes before you know it. Don't miss your chance." Tears now threatened to cloud her vision, as she took a deep breath._

 _They continued washing and drying the dishes together for a couple minutes in silence. Finally, Teddy spoke up. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"_

 _A jolt went through her. "Who?"_

" _Harry." Her hands stopped moving. She swallowed hard. He continued, "I saw the two of you together, in the kitchen before dinner."_

 _Hermione knew immediately what he meant. Earlier, she had been cutting vegetables, and Harry came up behind her. For the past few months, their families had been having dinner together frequently, and she was tired of Harry taking on most of the cooking duties. He had been giving her tips on some kitchen techniques, and tonight he had decided to show her how to slice the vegetables more quickly and efficiently. He stood behind her and put his arms around her, guiding her hands in his own. At some point his chin came to rest on her shoulder, and they had probably stood there for several minutes, eyes closed, relaxed in each other's touch._

" _Teddy, Harry and I were just getting dinner ready, chopping some vegetables." She continued work on the dishes._

" _That's always the way with the two of you, isn't it? You're always finding excuses, but for as long as I can remember, you were the closest people I ever knew. As a little boy, I remember the two of you, completely happy when you were together. I hoped – I hope that Victoire and I can have a friendship like that." He looked at over at her, uncertain about whether to continue. "Maybe I'm out of line here, but I know there's more than you tell everyone else. I can see it, and I worry about the two of you."_

 _Hermione stopped again, looking into Teddy's eyes, which were filled with legitimate concern. She glanced back to the sink. "Even if what you said were true, that time is past. Our work won't allow..." She paused, not sure how to explain this. "... And we have families and children to worry about. They wouldn't understand."_

 _He shook his head. "He_ is _your family already. We're_ all _family, don't you see? This summer Albus told me that Rose has been cheering you two on for years."_

" _My daughter...?" Hermione remembered the little girl, years ago, the one who brought their hands together as they stood in the snow. Lately, she had been bugging Hermione to spend more evenings and nights at Grimmauld Place._

" _I mean, she loves her Dad of course, along with her time with him. But she knows you and Ron have been over for years. I think both she and Hugo like it better when you're happy."_

 _Hermione shook her head. "It's too strange. You can't know how they'd really feel about this... Harry's their uncle..."_

 _Teddy looked down at his hands, halting his drying. "You don't see him when you're not here. He loves his children more than anything in the world, but he gets this look at night when he doesn't think anyone's seeing him. It's like he failed. I've heard the stories about when he grew up, the awful family he had, and I know he wanted his children to have a perfect family. But since he and Ginny split up for good, he smiles for the kids, but seems more lonely than ever when he's by himself." Teddy's eyes grew sad. "It's one of the reasons I've been coming over for dinner so much: I lost my parents too, and I can't bear to think of him feeling alone, after all he's done for me..."_

 _Hermione turned and put an arm around his shoulder, her eyes distant. "I didn't know..." She missed Harry profoundly too, but she hadn't realized how the finality of divorce must have impacted him.  
_

" _No, you've been busy the past couple months; he understands. He would never bother you because he wants you to succeed and not be worried about him. But I see his face change when he knows you're coming. He comes alive again when you're here. When all the children are playing together, when we're all laughing around the big table at dinner – even the kids see the difference. Tonight I was with Lily and Hugo before dinner as they were playing, and Lily said when we were all together, it felt like being at the Burrow with her other aunts and uncles and cousins." Teddy grew serious again. "It was probably toughest for her to visit Harry after he moved out. You know the Weasley household, always bustling with energy, and the kids always spent so much time there, even more so in the past couple years. Harry can't provide that sort of thing to his children by himself in this big house. Lily told me that when you're here, it's like one big happy family again."_

 _Hermione's eyes now filled with tears; she fought to keep herself composed. "It's all so complicated. Teddy, you don't know..."_

 _It was Teddy's turn to put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm probably the last person who should be giving advice to you. But for someone who could become a Minister for Magic so quickly, I can't imagine there's any obstacle you couldn't get past."_

"Good morning, Minister." The Private Secretary's voice broke into her reminiscence. "I trust all went well sending off the children this morning?" Hermione looked about her, a bit dazed, before realizing she had already arrived in her outer office.

"Yes, everything was fine." Hermione was handed a stack of recent correspondence, which she began to thumb through.

"Very well, Minister. I had cleared most of your schedule for today, as I was not sure whether we would see you. Is there anything I should place on your agenda?"

Hermione stopped as she saw the address on one letter. She closed her eyes for a moment, as the corners of her mouth turned up in a familiar expression. "Yes, could you tell one of the assistants to send in some proper robes for me for meetings today? Also, I'll need some more of my private stationery right away, please. And tell the Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement to come by as soon as possible."

The Private Secretary proceeded to take some notes. "Yes, Minister. Shall I inform him of the subject for your meeting?"

"Tell him it's about planning for a special public event." She turned as a small smile emerged on her face. _There was indeed a lot of work to get done today._ She walked toward her office, a unusual girlish spring in her step along the way.

* * *

Harry buttoned up a shirt for the third time that evening. He had never in his life been concerned about clothes, but he had discarded two shirts already, deciding the first was wrinkled and the second had an odd color. He looked in the mirror and held up his dark jacket next to his side, judging the match of the colors. He frankly had no idea what he was doing; Ginny had always given him advice for clothes on any important occasion.

And his anxiety level certainly seemed to indicate that tonight was an important occasion, though some more rational part of him tried to deny it. He had known Hermione for decades, and he had had meals with her numerous times, so why did he feel like a teenager again, going out on a first date? It's true that they hadn't had dinner alone in several months, but it was really the kiss on his cheek she had given him at the platform that lingered in his thoughts. Although Ron had been right that they had been close the past few months, even hinting at kissing of any sort had been tacitly banned by them since that day in the Forest of Dean last year.

He thought back to the unprecedented roller coaster their relationship had been through since that day...

At first, she had tried to ignore him, but that was nearly impossible since Hermione had been one of his immediate superiors at work. Harry ultimately cornered her a couple weeks later after a meeting and told her he was trying hard with Ginny, and she need not be concerned.

Harry had felt some anguish over that day with Hermione. He realized that, despite their difficulties, Ginny and he deserved another chance, for their kids if nothing else. He couldn't possibly ignore their decades together; he still loved her dearly. At first, Ginny was skeptical, but they tried valiantly for several months, going out on weekly dates and even several weekends alone with each other.

Eventually, on their third weekend away alone, they ended up with absolutely nothing to talk about for over two hours at dinner their first evening. They still cared about each other, but they had simply grown apart: she was ever more occupied as a sports correspondent and obsessed with celebrities and public personas, while Harry wanted nothing more than to never be bothered by the press again, preferring staying in for a quiet evening rather than the parties Ginny attended for work functions. After that wordless dinner, they left their hotel without staying a night and silently returned home. The young love and attraction of two decades ago was no longer enough to hold them together, especially now as the kids were growing older. Two weeks later, admitting defeat, they agreed that he should move out permanently to Grimmauld Place.

About a month afterward, a random meeting about new dark wizards in Europe led Harry to confront Hermione alone again. Although he had often thought about their day in the Forest of Dean, he knew she wouldn't be willing to consider his proposal while he was still together with Ginny. But now he told her of his desire to attempt to hone their newfound magical resonance together, in case it might ever be necessary to fight other dark magic. He didn't dare to mention his silent hope: that they might learn to control the magic someday so they could become more intimate, if she were willing.

She had reluctantly joined him on a Saturday afternoon last October somewhere in the wilderness, and they began practicing with harmless charms and transfigurations. They had only mild success at first, but as he convinced her to focus on their happier times together, their magic began to coalesce. Soon, on every other weekend when they weren't with the children, they were meeting to practice with each other. They moved on to jinxes, hexes, defensive spells, and finally more powerful magic. Hermione could easily focus on Harry's energy to create a lightning bolt that would fell several large trees at once, then regrow them with an enhanced Herbivicus charm almost as quickly. And one day they even returned to the Forest of Dean, where Harry channeled Hermione's energy to successfully levitate the entirety of the lake far into the air for a few moments.

These efforts left the two of them sapped of energy, but the greater concern was the side effect that Hermione had identified that first day, which recurred with regularity. After casting and focusing on each other so intently, they felt an undeniable urge to embrace each other until their energies calmed again. They were afraid of this at first, worried of lighting another forest fire or something worse, but came to realize friendly affection didn't have such unpredictable results. And their embraces even seemed to reinforce their bond, allowing their proficiency with this new magic to grow more quickly.

Hugs that first lasted seconds grew to minutes then nearly a half hour. They took to returning to Grimmauld Place after their sessions, often having a quiet meal together and then sitting together for hours. Harry convinced her to try watching some Muggle movies, which helped to pass the time as they recovered. One night after a viewing of a new film for them, the epic _Doctor Zhivago_ , which left them both nearly in tears, he hesitantly asked her to stay over in one of the guest rooms, and the next week he arranged a bed for her in the room next to his. As their sessions went on, their desire to be close to each other grew ever stronger, and even knowing she was in the next room gave him great comfort.

Other times they would talk for hours about anything and everything, and still other times she would just read silently sitting next to him, taking an occasional book from the large bookcase Harry had provided for her. They were now finding almost any excuse to spend a free evening together, occasionally even when their children were around. Harry knew that they had assumed a bizarre lifestyle, never speaking of their feelings for each other, but often cuddling together for several hours during their evenings together. Yet neither wanted to give it up: with two failed marriages, it was their silent comfort.

On the other hand, neither dared to move the boundaries from a friendly touch to a caress: that path seemed forbidden for so many reasons. Aside from their fear of another uncontrolled magical outburst, Hermione was his superior at work, making a public relationship awkward at best. And, for the moment, Harry was still married. At first, Ginny and Harry dragged their feet in getting the awkward process started, but then lawyers seemed to find new procedures each month to follow in dividing Harry's property and wealth. He and Ginny were both trying hard to be amicable, but divorce was uncommon among wizards to begin with, and the law dealing with old family inheritances was exceedingly complex.

One night in mid-April, after a particularly trying week at work, Hermione was unusually silent throughout their evening together, only cryptically responding to his inquiries. That night, she had shown up in his room, several minutes after they had finally separated from their habitual embrace to retire to their separate beds. She approached him in the darkness, and they stared wordlessly at each other, a look of distress on her face. She didn't need to ask; he didn't need to know. He pulled back the blankets on the other side of the bed, and she crawled in next to him. A second later, she was snuggled up to his side, sighing deeply as she placed her head on his chest, safe in his embrace. After a lingering contented silence together, they drifted off to sleep.

When Harry awoke the next morning, after the most restful sleep he could ever remember, she was already gone, though her scent lingered next to him. He found a note from her in the kitchen, next to a cappuccino and a croissant, saying simply:

 _I'm sorry if I troubled you. We won't be able to do this again for a while. I needed you to be there, as you always are and always have been for me. All my love, -H._

The very next day Harry had been called to Kingsley's office, where he was told that he would be receiving an unexpected promotion to become Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry was shocked, and protested that he was far too young, and if anyone deserved it, Hermione as Deputy Head obviously should be moved ahead of him. But Kingsley finally explained the mystery: a snap election had been called in Britain, and though the Ministry of Magic was not required to follow the schedule of Parliament, they often chose to do so. He had decided he had been Minister for too long; the Head of the Department was also stepping down. Kingsley planned to endorse Hermione as a candidate for Minister for Magic at a political event in a week's time, and he was confident that she could win. Kingsley trusted Harry completely with the Department and wanted him at the helm when he resigned as Minister. But with their close ties, there would be questions if Hermione promoted Harry; Kingsley needed to do it before he left.

Harry now understood it all, though it didn't prevent him from breaking into a full run to her office as soon as Kingsley finished shaking his hand. Harry flew past her assistant and without even knocking, he burst in. She was standing by her law books, holding one in her hands as she looked up in surprise. Without thinking, he ran over and immediately lifted her in his arms, swinging her about, momentarily taking her breath away.

" _Why didn't you tell me?" he asked as he pulled back, his arms still about her._

 _Hermione stared into his eyes, and a smile broke across her lips. "All the politicians and their dealing... They swore me to secrecy; I never want to keep things from you." She pulled her arms away, breaking contact with him. "But Harry, you need to stop doing this. I'll be a political candidate now, and even though everyone knows you and Ginny are separated, I can't... we can't..."_

 _Her voice trailed off, but he immediately understood. Once again, the wizard press stood between them. She couldn't be seen fraternizing with a married man, especially Harry Potter. It certainly couldn't come to light that she was secretly staying at his house, now several nights each week. Candidates were treated with no mercy by the newspapers. "How long?" He tried to suppress the yearning tone in his voice._

" _The election is on the eighth of June, but even after that, if I'm elected, I don't know..." Her eyes were sad and clearly stated what neither of them could ever say aloud._

 _Several moments passed before Harry finally dropped his eyes. "I'll be okay. You need to focus on this." He looked back up at her, forcing a smile. "No one deserves this more than you. You'll be terrific."_

" _I need to get through the election first. Kingsley is much more confident about this than I. I'd be the youngest Minister in centuries."_

" _You will win. I'm sure of it."_

Harry looked back at himself in the mirror, returning from his memories. As he reminisced, he had been trying to make some sense out of his perpetually unruly hair. _Of course she won_ , he thought. No other candidate had her drive and intellect; she had made all the rest of them look like uninformed amateurs when they attempted to debate her publicly. And after Shacklebolt's reform of Pureblood laws, that faction and the dark wizards had become so unpopular that their candidate didn't stand a chance. Even Draco Malfoy finally found a voice to speak out publicly in favor of Hermione. Harry was aware that some sort of upset had occurred in the Muggle Parliament in June, but Hermione came through the wizard election with a landslide win.

Although Harry's divorce had finally been completed during the election period, he knew Hermione couldn't just stay with him randomly again: it would be a public scandal that would distract from her new position. So with James home from school for the summer, he took to inviting her and the kids to dinner a few times each week when their schedules would permit. Teddy Lupin often joined them, and a large family around the table made Grimmauld Place feel like a real home to Harry. Even though they never openly discussed it, Harry and Hermione clung to the pretense that a family dinner together would shield them from press investigations. And on a few occasions, Harry convinced her to stay over with the kids – he slept more soundly knowing she was close by, though she had never again come to him at night.

And that had been why Ron had noticed their affection lately. Without their private evenings together, they were more clingy than ever when they had any moment in each other's presence. At the Ministry, they had to hold to some modicum of public behavior around each other, but every spare moment in private, Harry had to admit that they were basically hanging off of each other. After so many months experiencing the resonant sensations together, they craved that closeness, that untroubled feeling, almost like a drug.

It had been two weeks since their last big family dinner, which also made him anxious to see Hermione. With her new position, she had just moved to a new flat that was close to work. But aside from some work meetings, they hadn't seen much of each other during her move. He missed her profoundly.

Harry breathed deeply, as he checked himself one last time. Ron was right: they couldn't hide from this any longer. He simply couldn't bear to spend weeks apart from her, no matter what the politicians and press said. He didn't know what Hermione was planning tonight but he couldn't put up with this strange lifestyle anymore. They needed to address this.

He donned his jacket, straightened his collar, and finally set out.

* * *

Harry knocked three times on the carved wooden door. "It's open. Come in!" a muffled voice called from inside.

He opened the door and entered a small foyer. Amazing aromas of cooking meats and exotic spices wafted toward him. "Hello?" he called.

Hermione appeared at the end of a short hall. She was wearing the same deep blue dress he had seen her in once before, her neck adorned with his necklace. She was positively stunning, somehow with her mature features appearing even more lovely than she had been at that restaurant years ago. The soft light played gently in her brown hair, shifting its highlights as she walked toward him, smiling broadly. A grin formed on his face too, and he took a step forward and took her in his arms, breathing deeply and reveling in their contact. They stood there for a long while, eyes closed, idly stroking each other's backs, before Hermione finally pulled back. "This is nice. But I need to get back to dinner."

Harry turned and picked up the bottle he had left on a small table by the door. "You didn't say what to bring." He handed it to her, and she studied the label, looking back up at him in bewilderment.

"You know I like wine, Harry, but I don't know much about expensive bottles. This is a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti that's over 25 years old, though. Isn't this worth thousands of pounds?"

Harry shrugged. "It's actually 26 years old, to be exact. I got the 1991 vintage, because I wanted to celebrate how long we've known each other. The wine dealer said the 1990 was supposedly better, but I can't imagine this one's that bad."

She stared at him in confusion, her eyes blinking several times. "That _bad_? Harry, this is too much."

He was glancing down at the bottle. "I rarely spend any of my money, but in the past year, I realized that my parents and Sirius would want me to enjoy myself sometimes. And tonight, I wanted to bring something truly special. This is our first dinner alone since you became Minister." He paused, looking up to gaze into her eyes. "More importantly, it's our first dinner alone in a long while..."

She could tell what he wasn't able to say, and she put her free arm around him again, now clutching the bottle carefully in her other hand. "I've missed you too." She pulled away. "But I need to get back to the kitchen. Do you _really_ want to drink this?"

"It's been waiting to be opened up for as long as we've been friends, so I think it's about time." He smirked, and she could see something playful in his eyes.

"Then I'll get something so you can do the honors, and I'll finish up dinner." She walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, tending to a few pots, as Harry continued past her into the living room, taking in her new flat. It was an enormous space for the location, with an open plan that joined the kitchen, dining room, and living room into a single area. Bookcases lined almost all of the walls, making it feel like a hybrid between a library and a living space. A large gap in the shelves, however, showed a glass door that opened out to a small balcony. Harry walked over to the door, looking out at the monuments in the area, then seeing the Thames curve off into the distance.

"It's a lovely place." Hermione interrupted his thoughts. "There's no way I could afford to live anywhere near Whitehall, even on a Minister's salary, but the Ministry has owned a few buildings in the area for centuries. And they are giving me an amazing rate. I suppose it's one perk." She took a moment to look at his back, the dark jacket accentuating his shoulders and cutting in around his trim waist. Just a few threads of silver ran through his dark hair, making him look even more distinguished. Her eyes ventured lower, as she smiled a bit to herself at the cut of his trousers.

"You could say that," Harry replied, still staring out the window. "It sure beats the hell out of the view from Grimmauld Place." He inhaled deeply. "That smells amazing... What is it?"

"Lamb tagine. I know how you miss that restaurant since it closed, so I thought I'd try my hand at Moroccan cuisine." She set down the wine bottle and pushed a corkscrew across the dining table to the side facing the living room. Two glasses followed. "Here. If you really think you're ready for something that's been bottled up for 26 years, have at it." It was now her turn to smirk at him, as he turned to face her. Harry noticed her shining eyes and couldn't help grinning himself. _Can_ _she really mean what that sounds like?_

Harry walked to the table and opened the bottle, pouring two glasses of the dark red wine. He looked up at her as she tended to the food. "I've never had a bottle like this either, but I suppose we should let it sit for a while, no? Let it breathe?"

She smiled back at him, a mischievous look now in her eyes. "I'm in no hurry."

Although the thought of going to her right now was ever more enticing, Harry took what he now assumed was a hint and walked back into the living room, noting the large cream-colored sofa and an overstuffed crimson leather chair in front of the fireplace. Beside the chair - which seemed oddly familiar to him - was a small table, piled high with books. Harry scanned the titles: _On Food and Cooking_ , _The Food Lab, Cooking for Geeks..._ "Some light reading here, I see. Somehow I always picture you with a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_." He chuckled.

"Am I ever going to live that down?" She sighed. "Actually, you inspired me this summer, so I've decided I should expand my culinary skills."

"With _these_?"

"It turns out that there's a science to how cooking works, like potions. It all makes more sense to me now. And I've been learning about all these interesting and unusual techniques. For example, did you know a lot of Moroccan cuisine uses preserved lemons? They're such a unique flavor, and they improve over time. You just need to wait to experience them, and they're..."

" _C'est magnifique!_ " Hermione scrunched her eyebrows at him in confusion. He explained, "It's just that you remind me of Louis, the French waiter at Casablanca. He could give an entire speech on how you need to wait to savor a lemon properly."

"Well, I've had this _particular_ lemon set aside for some time, and tonight seemed the right occasion." She came around from the kitchen, carrying two plates to the table. Harry joined her, helping her into the seat beside him.

He raised his wine glass, swirling it as he drew in a breath through his nose, then smiled at her. "So what shall we toast to? Old friends?"

"Maybe new beginnings?" Her eyes were alight as they looked intently at each other, daring each other to move beyond the dangerous seductive dance of _double entendre_ that had begun earlier.

He clinked his glass against hers. "How about both?"

* * *

They relaxed over dinner, talking leisurely about the struggles of their new positions and how the children would do at Hogwarts now. The banter continued occasionally as well, though neither dared to break their dance of wit and move to what they most wanted.

Hermione had cleared the plates and said she needed to check on something. After she hadn't returned to the table in several minutes, Harry wandered into the kitchen, finding her just finishing whipping some cream with a whisk. He stared at her back, taking in her whole figure, his eyes running from her neck down to her hips and legs. At first he couldn't allow himself to believe it, but Harry was nearly certain she had been flirting with him openly that night, far beyond their typical jokes. Whatever fears he had, they had to be dismissed. The _line_ was in front of him, and if he had to admit defeat because he was too weak to continue their witty banter, so be it.

He crossed the unspoken boundary and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. There was no pretense for this action: no friendly embrace, no excuse of helping her with kitchen chores, no reason other than that he just needed to feel her body close to his. She sighed and closed her eyes, as she put down the bowl and the whisk, placing her hands on his.

He breathed in her scent, marveling at the curve of her creamy neck as he pulled his hand up and swept back the hair on her right side. He had waited so long. Weeks, months, years...

"Harry, we should..."

He couldn't resist anymore. His lips descended to her neck, first brushing her shoulder softly, then moving inward, leaving a trail of tiny kisses in his wake. A shiver of delight surged through her. As he passed the thin chain of the necklace he had given her so long ago, she began to breathe heavily, eyes still closed, biting her lip at the sensation. He neared the bottom of her jaw, and his mouth finally opened as his lips pulled ever so gently on her skin. Her neck now began to flush, turning a shade of pink that caused primal urges to begin to stir in him. Then his lips were on her again, and he heard her let out an involuntary moan as she was beginning to sweat, he knew not whether from the heat already in the kitchen or his ministrations on her neck. But the tiny hint of salt in his first taste of her was exquisite. Harry pulled her closer to him, breathing deeply. He thought he could _smell_ the warmth radiating off her, almost _smoky..._

Then two sets of eyes opened in alarm, as they turned to view the source of their concern. The fireplace was alight and the leather chair before it had now erupted into flame.

Hermione disengaged from him and ran into the living room. She extinguished the fire with her wand, sighing heavily. "I loved that chair."

"I'm sorry." Harry's worst fears had come true. Since that day in the Forest of Dean, they had never dared cross this line, but he had somehow hoped that their months of working together, taming their resonant reactions to each other, would allow them to control this. He was wrong.

"I didn't... I wasn't ready." Her face was downcast as she leaned on the back of the sofa.

"Hermione, I didn't know... I thought you wanted... I'd never..." He swallowed. "We can wait." He felt a shudder pass through him, as he contemplated how many more weeks, months, even years, of this torture he would gladly take to be with her.

But her eyes came up to meet his in an instant. "You don't understand." She smiled broadly. "I was merely thinking of the stupid chair. Harry, not to be too silly about this, but you had me at 'Hello.'" Her eyes dropped briefly as she shook her head at what she just said. "And I just didn't imagine you'd finally dare to do _that_ , at least not this early in the evening." She stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "Just wait there for a minute," she said as she disappeared into a room down the hall.

Harry's brain couldn't even process what had just happened. _I had her at "Hello?" And what did she mean, "this early in the evening"?_ She was planning for this? Were they on a schedule? He knew Hermione was fastidious in some odd ways, but this was beyond him.

She returned a minute later, carrying a large and obviously heavy wooden object, somewhat rectangular with a rounded top, shaped like a very old-fashioned Muggle radio. She put it down on the floor near the door to the balcony. Harry watched, perplexed, as she pulled out her wand and quietly chanted a long Latin incantation over it. " _Musica mundana invocata, vis harmonicae magicae ex Harrio Hermioneque derivetur ut ignes amoris veri in caelis reluceant!_ " The top of the object glowed bright red for an instant as a soft low-pitched hum sounded. Then it was silent again, now only a faint glow emitting from within a carved circle on the front.

"What is _that_?" he queried.

She turned toward him now, the mischievous grin again spreading across her face. "I meant to set it up after you arrived, but you distracted me with your ten thousand pound bottle of wine. Anyhow, it's a safety valve, of sorts."

"What do you mean?" Harry was completely confused.

"Do you trust me?" She was now sauntering toward him, swaying her hips in a manner he had never imagined her doing before. The smile had grown wider, as she didn't break eye contact for an instant. She looked like a cat about to toy with her prey.

"Uh, I guess so. What's going on?"

She was now only inches away from him, glancing down at his chest while fiddling with the lapels on his jacket. Her eyes rose again to meet his: they were dark, but still had the playful light glimmering in them. "I need to test a theory. Calibrate some equipment. Will you help?"

He swallowed. "If I can." His heart was pounding, his breath shallow at her closeness. He was uncertain what strange spell had come over her.

"Close your eyes, Harry." His world went dark as his eyelids slid shut. He could feel heat radiating from her entire body, now pressed up against him, as the familiar scent of her overwhelmed his senses. He felt her arms around his neck, her fingers moving ever so slowly and gently through his hair and on the back of his head, until...

 _Softness and warmth._ His entire world was focused down to a small circle an inch wide. For a moment, his mind was so overwhelmed that he didn't know what had happened. He felt the velvet softness that had become his universe pull away ever so slightly, and then he knew it was her lips on his. They pressed again, so lightly, as they moved together and apart, urging his lips to do the same. The moistness and taste of _her_ registered on his lips, as jolt after jolt of electricity went through him.

His heart was racing, but her lips kept moving so slowly and languidly, and it seemed like an eternity before he felt the tantalizing tip of her tongue slip through and brush his lips. He eagerly opened his mouth, as he felt her hands in his hair again, pulling him closer. His arms were now around her, his hands on her back and running through her hair, needing to be one with the sensations of her. The tip of her tongue met his and began to circle in a slow, meticulous dance. But desire eventually drove him beyond that dance, and a soft moan came from her throat as their tongues engaged more deeply, mouths wide. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over through them as their full tongues embraced completely over and over.

They repeated the dance, again and again, more deeply then less so, a seemingly endless cycle of bliss. It was like every motion, every sensation in them was perfectly matched, perfectly attuned. Finally, he could feel her lips begin to close, their caresses slowing even further as she kissed him close-mouthed once more. Her lips had one last gesture to add to the dance as they pulled down, sucking gently on his bottom lip, before pressing into both of his again. He countered, and then they held a final touch for several seconds, until his lips were alone once more.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, to see her wondrous brown orbs staring back, a blackness like polished obsidian at their centers. They were both breathing deeply, hot moist air circling between them. He had no idea how long they had been locked in that embrace: it could have been a minute, it could have been several hours. He had never experienced anything so slow and sensual and erotic in his life.

Hermione's reddened swollen lips now turned into a small smile, before she kissed him quickly one more time. "Go relax on the sofa. I need to get your surprise..." she said, turning away.

* * *

Hermione walked into the kitchen, but she paused to lean against the wall and steady herself. _Sweet Merlin._ Her entire body was quivering, and her knees threatened to give out. Ever since this morning, she had been hoping, waiting for the moment that they would finally take the step she had yearned for, but she never imagined anything could ever feel like _that_.

A few minutes later, she had brewed some espresso and emerged from the kitchen with a small tray, carrying two tiny cups and two plates. Harry was seated near the center of the sofa, staring at the empty fireplace, his mouth slightly open in wonder. He had removed his jacket and tossed it absentmindedly toward one of dining table chairs, but it had missed and had fallen to the floor as he simply kept on walking in his dazed condition. She picked it up and folded it, before continuing to the sofa. Sitting beside him, she placed the tray on the small table in front of them. Hermione handed him a cup, but he looked over at her in confusion.

"Did that actually happen?" She leaned over and gave him a soft gentle kiss in reply. He blinked, and a small grin came to his face. "I thought I might have had a stroke. Where did you ever learn to do _that_?"

A grin came to her face now too. "I was going to ask you the same question. I've never felt anything like that before." She took a sip from her cup, then looked at the tray with a more serious expression. "I tracked down your friend Steve and he gave me the recipe, Harry, though he wouldn't tell me what the secret ingredient was. I took your guess and added just a tiny pinch of cayenne. But I made a large tart so we could each have a piece to begin." She handed him a plate with a geometrically perfect thin slice, topped with the most exquisitely shaped quenelle of whipped cream.

He looked down at it, then at her. "You're truly amazing, you know that?"

She smiled. "Well, I wanted to do something special too." She looked off into the fireplace. "But there's more to this surprise. With the clues from that old wizard we met and some of my other research on Snape's practices, I am fairly certain I've found the cure for our amnesia."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "You have?"

"It took me the past two weeks to brew the potion, but I incorporated it in here. You always wanted to know what happened after that dance... with us."

He again looked down at his plate, then back to her face. "Do we have to... you know..." He pointed to her nose.

She laughed. "No, Harry. I don't think that has anything to do with it. Even the pumpkin pie probably isn't necessary, but that old wizard certainly thought it helped." Her smile quickly faded. Harry now felt attuned to her every shift in mood and cupped her cheek in concern. Her eyes came back up and met him. "What if it isn't what you thought? I know you've obsessed over it for years, but what if... what if it isn't as good a memory as..." Her voice trailed off.

"Hermione, I would treasure any memory that you're part of." In any other circumstance, such a statement would have sounded simply too romantic to be possible. Yet the sincerity in those iridescent green eyes overwhelmed her. After a beat, he continued, "But if you really don't want to know, we don't have to do this."

She nodded, looking down. After a moment, she lifted her plate from the tray and grabbed her fork. Then she raised her eyebrows at him, silently asking, _Are you ready?_

Together, they took a bite. "This is _really_ good," he said. She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm serious. This is even better than Steve's." She smiled softly as they finished their small slices. They set down their plates together, then looked into each other's eyes. "What do we do now?" said Harry. She took his hand in hers.

A few moments passed, and their eyes slammed shut involuntarily as the memories flooded back from that night long ago: their dance, their kisses, their laughter together, their discussion of their magic, their embrace as they fell asleep. Hermione kept feeling the sensations of their young, passionate, unabashed kissing washing over her again and again. She finally opened her eyes to see Harry staring, eyes now even darker than before. She started to say, "That was..."

And then his lips were on hers again, now in the present, reenacting the frenzy of their young love. She had to admit, he _did_ taste of pumpkin pie. But this was completely different from their sensual earlier kiss: a feeling of hunger and desire now drove them forward as their tongues swirled. Their hands explored each other's bodies fervently as Hermione leaned back on the sofa, pulling Harry with her. Their kiss seemed to be enhanced even further by the residual magic of the memory's return, somehow blending memory and reality together, as their hearts beat strongly against each other.

After a minute, Harry pulled away, gasping for air, but was surprised by a soft glow emanating beside them. He glanced up to see flashing colored lights in the sky through her balcony window. Unbidden, his mind began a thought, _'But soft! What light through yonder window...'_

"Don't even say it." Hermione had seen his gaze drift upward.

"I didn't say-"

"I know _that_ look."

He had to smile, a feeling of pure adoration coming over him. "You did that even without Legilimency, didn't you?" He shook his head. "But what's going on out there anyway? Is there a holiday celebration tonight or something? Those looked like fireworks."

Her eyes drifted down slightly as a tiny grin emerged on her face.

"And I know _that_ look," he said. He now sat up a bit, lifting himself off of her. She sighed at the absence of his contact. "Just _what_ did you do, Hermione?"

"Remember the 'safety valve'?"

Harry looked to the wooden device on the floor that she had brought out earlier, its light now flickering brightly. He then glanced out to the sky, then back inside. _"No..._ "

"It came to me earlier. I was afraid of the spontaneous magical release we had experienced in the Forest of Dean, and I had no idea what the potion might do. Originally, I thought we might have to apparate to a rocky outcrop somewhere for our dessert, but then I thought of a more... convenient solution."

Harry's hand was rubbing his forehead, as he shook his head back and forth. "You're not seriously telling me that you somehow converted that resonant energy or whatever you call it into a... bloody fireworks show!?"

She couldn't help giggling a bit. "I know, it sounds ridiculous. But that apparatus there has been attuned to us and works a bit like a floo for magical forces. It sends any spontaneous magical energy down to another apparatus on the Thames, which is a sort of... containment unit." Harry suddenly looked up, wearing a grin of excitement. " _No_ , not like in _Ghostbusters._ Well, actually..." She sighed deeply. "Anyhow, when energy builds up too much, it, er... discharges."

"But _fireworks_? Isn't someone going to... you know, notice that?"

"Well, explosive spells are the fastest and most efficient way to disperse magical energy. The last time this happened, we almost lit an entire forest on fire, so I couldn't think of what else to do with it. And I charmed the explosions so they won't make any noise and won't be as disruptive. The Ministry's public story is that there might be a small lightshow in honor of the start of the school year, and I contacted Muggle law enforcement to tell them too. In case any Muggle news organizations ask, they'll be told that they're doing a test of some new type of fireworks."

Harry was now shaking his head again, looking away into the distance. "And I thought things were strange when we set the chair on fire..."

She sighed, glancing over at the charred remains. "I _really_ loved that chair."

"Wait," he said with a look of recognition, "isn't that the chair from the Gryffindor common room? The one you never let me sit in?" She grinned devilishly at him. "You _stole_ a chair?"

"It was more like... appropriation of underutilized resources. During a Ministerial visit, I simply suggested to Minerva that the room could use some updating." He wasn't convinced. "It was comfy. I _did_ give them a new one."

"When I think back to that girl who always wanted to obey the rules - now you're 'appropriating' armchairs and launching unlicensed fireworks displays. What is the Head of Law Enforcement going to do with you?"

"What would you like to do with me, Harry?" One side of her mouth turned up in a coy half-smile that caused all rational thought to flee from his brain.

"Let me consider the options..." Bringing his forehead to hers, he completely lost himself in her eyes. He had spent hours gazing at her face during their evenings together over the past year, trying to memorize every tiny detail as she would read or do work. She'd inevitably catch him, and they'd lock eyes knowingly for a few moments before the feelings became overwhelming. And yet tonight it was still a different world to see her like this, to have permission to look at those eyes forever without needing to glance away. How could he have never seen the flecks of gold in those lovely brown irises before? Did they always sparkle so?

He still was not quite able to believe this wasn't a dream, that his best friend of a quarter century was actually here. But finally his gaze fell to her lips, and he needed to close the gap again. He was already addicted to her. They kissed slowly and reclined again as his body covered hers. But in a moment, he pulled up abruptly. "So if we, umm... do this right, we'll see explosions outside?" Now _he_ was wearing a devilish grin.

"Well, it depends on what _this_ is that we do. Remember, it requires resonance. We both have to want-"

But her voice was cut off as his mouth descended hungrily to her lips. She relaxed into one of his arms holding her as his other hand began to flow up and down her side. Then suddenly his lips were on her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck, kissing, then sucking ever so softly as small throaty moans began to escape from her mouth. In a strained moment of consciousness, she registered the thought, _What is he doing?_ But his hand was now further down, caressing her, moving teasingly from the back of her leg to the front of her thigh, then smoothing the soft fabric of her dress as his fingers raked over her stomach. Meanwhile, his mouth had been elsewhere, and he had somehow already found that strangely sensitive spot just where her neck joined to her upper shoulder, which he was now massaging deeply, his lips and tongue alternating their pressure in a way that made her toes curl.

She began to pant as she now felt fingers shifting direction and ever so slowly moving upward, all the while as he continued the ministrations on her neck. Her heart was pounding; she could barely take the tension, needing him to continue. The hand clasped then caressed her side, then dared to lightly sweep across her chest. Fingers began to swirl gently around the soft mound on her right side, inching closer and closer to the center until his whole hand cupped it strongly. "Oh, Harry..." she moaned as her back arched involuntarily.

A glowing red stream ascended into the sky outside and burst into a thousand lights, showering down.

His hands pulled back abruptly. "Bingo!" Harry sat up slightly, chuckling.

Her eyes fluttered open and she stared wide-eyed at him. "You... you... did that just to see if it worked?"

"I was just... what did you say, _calibrating the equipment_?" She slapped his arm.

His grin turned serious, as he gave her another slow and gentle kiss. "No, actually I did that because you, right now, are the most beautiful and most erotic thing I've ever seen in my life, and I can't wait to hear those sounds again."

She stared at him for a moment, and she would have blushed had her entire upper body not already been deeply flushed from his advances. Suddenly, she raised her head to kiss him back forcefully. Gently pushing him off, she sprawled out on her side next to him. Her fingers began to make light circles on his chest then pressed harder into his muscles, massaging them. She kissed his neck, before her mouth slowly made its way upward, tracing her tongue lazily around the bottom of his ear, before sucking gently on his earlobe. She breathed softly into his ear, whispering, "You were born to catch the snitch, Harry." Harry's eyes fluttered briefly open in surprise, but went shut again when he felt her hand now moving downward, grazing his upper thigh, then inching back up. "Is your wand charged and ready?" Her hand now traveled between his thighs, cupping him lightly. "Ooh... something's starting to levitate."

Harry was going out of his mind. _What had come over her?_ "Uh... Hermione...?" he panted, barely able to control his voice.

But then her hand was stroking up and down through his trousers, and he thought he was going to lose consciousness. Her hot breath was in his ear again. "I'm sorry, I'm _am_ being a bit naughty. Maybe I need just a little... swish and _flick_." His hips gave an involuntary thrust upward.

Another red rocket burst forth in the heavens.

Her hand went back up to rest on his chest as she giggled in his ear. "This is kind of fun..."

Harry's eyes now flew open. "You... you... witch!"

She was now laughing outright. "That was easier than I thought."

"I... I didn't know you had that in you." He was again shaking his head. "You know, if this gig running the whole wizarding world in Britain doesn't work out, you could find a job designing magical sex toys. I mean, just think how many blokes would love to have an indicator like that."

She looked down at his chest, her fingers resuming their circling caresses. "Well, I think a lot of blokes might be disappointed when the indicator didn't go off..." He frowned, but her eyes rose quickly to his. "Not that you'd have any problem with that." She kissed him softly again, then rested her head on his shoulder, while wrapping one of her legs on top of his. Silence fell between them, as they relaxed for a moment into the familiar yet novel sensation of cuddling so close.

Harry sighed as he gazed down at her. "There's one thing I don't know about. How are the kids going to take all this? It's going to be strange for them."

"Most of them are off at school now anyway, so we have some time." She thought again back to her conversation with Teddy. "And we'll go slow, but from the way they enjoyed our family dinners together, I think we can just start there." She paused for a moment, a slight look of concern coming over her. "But I don't know how Ginny and Ron are going to react."

Harry began chuckling. "Well, Ginny's apparently dating a former pro Quidditch player already. And Ron basically told me after you left this morning that if I didn't start snogging you soon, he'd push our faces together himself."

She gasped. "He _didn't_."

"Not in so many words, but that was the gist." Harry's laugh died off. "I have to admit that part of me feels really strange about this, being the 'second man' and all..."

She thought back to her now-restored memory. "You know that's not _quite_ true anymore, you remember?"

Harry now sat up, pulling her gently along with him. He continued to marvel at her for a minute, then walked over to the balcony window, staring out into the sky. "I just don't understand. I know he was trying to pretend to follow Voldemort, but why did Snape do this to us? Why put us through this?"

Hermione looked over at him. "I've had a lot more time to think about that. And maybe he _was_ afraid we'd blow ourselves up or burn the forest down around us before we learned to control this. Which... we almost did, even with decades more experience with magic." She rose and walked over to his side. "But I've also thought about what it would have done to the two of us, if we felt that strongly back then. I was almost ready to quit the War entirely just to stay with you... the two of us could have run off together and never looked back. You might have never gone to Voldemort, and the Horcrux in you would have remained. The outcome of the entire War could have been in jeopardy."

"We wouldn't have abandoned everyone like that." He paused. "I mean, I don't think I could have done that. It all seems so convoluted."

"Really? More convoluted than Dumbledore's scheme to lead Snape into risking his life to protect you for years... only to reveal that you had to die so that Snape would convince you to kill yourself after years of pretending to be the enemy... except that Dumbledore ultimately had a secret hope that you'd figure out his path for you to llve?" She sighed, still amazed at how that twisted logic ever managed to come together.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

She turned serious again. "Regardless, Snape must have considered what we'd do to protect each other, how it could have compromised our judgment." She also looked off into the dark sky, now putting an arm around his waist. "And what if we had stayed? Knowing how I feel tonight with you, I could have never let you go to the forest alone with Voldemort. I barely was able to let you go as it was. No matter what you said, I'd have followed you, to the ends of the Earth."

Harry swallowed hard. "You'd have been killed."

"And then you would have had to go on living without me." She stopped, forcing herself not to think about what that would have done to him. "Or think of dozens of other times we risked our lives in the War, all the times we were in danger of losing each other. Snape must have seen the emotions inside you when he viewed your thoughts, Harry. Over the years, I'm sure he saw into both of us, just as Dumbledore did. Even before we knew consciously, they could recognize what was building there. I know Snape always treated us badly, but he also knew what death could do to us... to people who love that strongly. He lived with it for so many years..."

"I know he loved her so much..." Harry whispered.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, as she realized for the first time that Snape might have done this for _her_ , to spare her from an intense lifelong pain of loss he felt so acutely, a pain following the death of Harry that Snape knew _had to happen_. Hermione never had imagined Snape cared at all for her; she had always seemed a disappointment to him somehow, despite her success in school. But had that merely been an overreaction to Harry's affection for her, a reminder of that bright young Muggle-born girl he had lost to Harry's father? Snape couldn't save Harry from death, and his sacrifices in the name of Lily must have seemed for naught. But in this twisted way, could he have tried to protect her _for_ Harry, to save her in a way he could never do for Lily?

She looked up at Harry's face. "We may never know all the reasons why he did it, but we did accomplish Dumbledore's plan to defeat Voldemort. And Snape knew that plan somehow required your death. I'd also like to believe that, deep down, his love for your mother led him to try to protect us from some of that pain." Her eyes glanced down. "I suppose he thought we'd never find out what we'd never had."

"We wasted so much time..."

She turned back to him and put her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. She bit her lip. "Harry, I'm right here, now."

A glint appeared in his eyes again, before he kissed her suddenly, dipping her backward in his arms as she laughed into his mouth. He tried to pull her up, but he had dipped her too low, and they stumbled together to gain their balance. "Nice move, Potter," she laughed. "Let's not try that in public..."

"Actually, Ms. Granger, I was thinking of trying that one out with you at the Ministry on Monday morning. Perhaps in the main lobby?" The smirk had returned.

Her eyes were bright now. "But what will they think, Harry? The Minister for Magic and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, barely out of two Weasley marriages, snogging each other senseless?"

A stern look came over him, as he articulated clearly, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

His lips again drew close to hers, but she couldn't help a small smile creeping up the corners of her mouth as she thought to herself, _Thank god we've finally moved on from the Bogie quotations!_ They kissed again, this time slowly and lovingly. Her mind flew back to her younger self from the memory long ago: _Anything can happen. I mean, if something should keep us apart... I want you to know that..._

Anything and everything had happened, but he was finally here, now. She couldn't let another moment go by without saying it. Pulling away, her mouth breathlessly formed the soft words, "I love you, Harry. Always."

He stared deeply into her glowing brown eyes. "Hermione, you know that I will always love you, just the same."

Her eyebrow arched slightly; the mischievous grin was back. _Just one more_. "Then kiss me, Harry! Kiss me as if it were the last time."

He beamed, nearly laughing before his green eyes grew very dark. She realized he was taking her words seriously: he now looked ravenous, like an animal ready to pounce on her. Without warning, her feet took flight as she was swept into his arms. A girlish giggle turned into a squeal of joy, cut short when his mouth locked on hers for what seemed like an eternity of bliss. _This was going to be one hell of a night_.

* * *

 **Footnote:** September 1, 2017 is the date that JKR finally admitted this is actually what happened. No, probably not. :)

Note that the various explanations Harry and Hermione come up with for Snape's actions are meant to be deliberately open-ended. He was a complex character, as JKR has repeatedly acknowledged, ruled by lots of dark emotions. Maybe his actions were purely pragmatic, driven by his need to stay hidden from Voldemort or to guide Harry to fulfill Dumbledore's plan, or maybe there was some deeper emotional motive as well. Although JKR has leaned toward the "Snape only loved Lily and absolutely hated _everyone_ else (including Harry)" idea in the past, his portrayal in _Cursed Child_ suggests JKR also wants people to believe he cared about other people too.

Please continue to the epilogue... which contains a final helping of pumpkin pie.


	12. Epilogue: Fireworks

**Disclaimer:** Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, and all the rest of the characters here belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

 **Author's Note:** Please note that Chapter 10 was also added today (September 1, 2017) in honor of Epilogue Day. If you haven't had a look at Chapter 10, please do before continuing. Otherwise, the "epilogue to the epilogue" below may not make a lot of sense.

Thanks to all who have read and who came along this journey with Harry and Hermione. They deserve a real epilogue. So without further ado...

* * *

 **Epilogue: Fireworks**

"Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing else on earth!  
Their thoughts were like other people's songs.  
They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the 'blaze of passion' often falsely ascribed to love.  
They loved each other because everything around them willed it,  
the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet."  
\- Boris Pasternak, _Doctor Zhivago_

* * *

 _A little while later..._

Hermione sat on the balcony of her London flat, a light silk robe draped about her, clinging closely enough in several areas to indicate her lack of other apparel beneath. The day had been crisp and autumnal, but the evening had brought a warm front that made the air hot and sticky. She was relieved when the occasional breeze passed through her hair and fluttered within her robe, cooling her damp skin and threatening to reveal secrets underneath. _But there were no more secrets to reveal. Not to him._

It was night. Or, rather, it was _supposed_ to be night. The sky seemed almost to indicate otherwise, as the area above the Thames was bursting with light, red and green, blue and yellow, just about every hue of the rainbow. Hermione stared in wonder, mouth agape, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief.

The door slid open and then shut again behind her. She didn't look away from the sky.

A small white porcelain espresso cup on a tiny saucer was placed in her hands, wafting a lovely dark scent upward toward her face. That woke her for an instant from her reverie, as she unhurriedly raised the cup to her lips, never looking away from the lightshow before her. The thick, rich coffee flowed into her mouth, warming her tongue, and she wasn't surprised when the glorious feeling from tiny bubbles of viscous crema coated her lips. She reveled in the sensation, closing her eyes for a moment to let the hot fluid pass deep within her, warming her very soul, leaving her sweating anew and eager for more.

"Good coffee?" his voice whispered from beside her.

"Holy shit, Harry."

"Well, you do have a professional grade machine in there."

"What can I say? I like a good cup o' Joe. But this, Harry..." She finally glanced down at the cup and then over to him. "This is _art_." _Is_ _there anything this man couldn't do to me?_

He was eating. Again. She found herself glancing up from the bare muscles of his chest to stare at his mouth, as another forkful of pumpkin custard passed through his lips. Well, not all of it. He reached up with a cloth napkin and wiped away the bits of cream, but he missed a tiny bit of custard that clung to his lip, glistening in the light from the sky.

"What?"

His voice startled her. "What?" she echoed.

"It seems you're now the one with the strange fetish."

She blushed. "I just... Harry, I really think you need to stop eating that pie."

"But it tastes _so good_ ," he said. The obvious hyperbole in his voice didn't disguise the fact that he was truly enjoying it. "I frankly can't remember when I was this hungry before, not since..." He didn't need to finish that sentence. She looked down. He was thinking of that day in the wilderness again.

"How can you still want more, Harry?"

That did it. Without warning, he leaned over and kissed her lips, first gently, then hungrily for several seconds before pulling away. Pumpkin and coffee flavors intermingled as the sky glowed a bit brighter. Just as abruptly, he leaned back into his chair and stabbed the pie with his fork. "Hermione, I'll _always_ want more." She shook her head, laughing at how perfectly natural this newfound intimacy felt between them. "Besides, a man needs his energy. I need to recharge the batteries, as it were. _You_ ," he smirked wickedly, "have left me completely exhausted."

She didn't know why her cheeks still reddened at the reference to their recent lovemaking, but they did. Her smile waned slightly as she looked up at the sky again. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What?"

"Recharging your batteries. At least not for tonight." The smile returned, as she cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Why not?" He leaned forward, eager to hear what he expected to be some naughty new plan.

"Harry! Can't you see what's going on here?"

He stared at her. "Yeah. We're having pie and coffee after we shagged each other senseless."

She punched his arm, but they both couldn't help laughing. "No! THAT!" Her arm was suddenly flung upward toward the heavens, pointing repeatedly at the bursting lights above them. Harry noticed that the vehemence of her gesture had set her robe askew, and rather than looking at what she was pointing to, his eyes had fallen to her chest and the creamy, newly exposed skin. " _HARRY!_ Focus!" She grabbed his chin and forced his gaze upward, though she couldn't suppress a giggle as she did so.

"Yeah. So?"

"SO!?"

"You said you had your apparatus or whatever set up to take care of all this. You cleared it with the Ministry. Just a little fireworks show."

" _LITTLE_? Harry, it's three o'clock in the morning! The sky has been exploding with magical energy for over _five hours._ " She was shaking her head again, mouth open as she stared at it. "We're going to be in so much trouble."

"What are they possibly going to do to us? They can't expel us anymore, Hermione. You're the bloody Minister for Magic, and I'm the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm the Boy Who Lived, and you're..." The evil grin had returned. "...the Girl Who Shagged Him." Another fistblow landed on his arm.

"I just... I didn't think it would be so long," she said. He let that one pass, but she saw his blinking and rolled her eyes. "No, Harry. I just can't believe how much harmonic resonance this created. I thought we might get a few bursts of explosive energy, and then it'd be over."

"Not exactly inspiring confidence in me there," he chuckled. He took a sip of espresso.

She turned to him, quite serious. "Harry, this is wonderful, the two of us. And I don't even have words to describe the way you made me feel tonight..." _especially that third time. Merlin! Focus, Hermione!_ "But there are going to be questions about this. My cover story just isn't going to hold up..." She was now deep in thought.

"What cover story? And how did you clear all of this anyway? I'm the Head of the Department. How come I knew nothing about this?"

"I went through the Deputy Head myself. I told him not to bother you with it, with the kids going away to Hogwarts and all. I actually..." Her eyes drifted down, and a tiny smile came across her lips. "... told him I thought it would be a nice _surprise_ for you."

He scooted his chair up against hers and wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close. "That's probably the understatement of the century." A warm flutter went through her chest. "But what's this about a cover story? What _exactly_ did you tell the Ministry?"

"I had to have some explanation for where the energy was coming from. And the resonance phenomenon has been related to celestial forces, as I told you. So, internally, the Ministry just thinks this is spontaneous energy from the result of some unusual astrological convergence."

His brow furrowed a bit. "And they just believed you? You may be the Minister for Magic, but you're not exactly a recognized expert on astronomy."

"Actually, I got Filius to tell them."

"Flitwick?"

"Well, you know Professor Sinistra has been living abroad, and she wouldn't go for something like this anyway. He _is_ a recognized authority on scientific matters."

The ramifications of this started to sink in. "Wait. You mean, you told Flitwick about... us?"

"I had to tell _someone_ , Harry. I trust him completely, after all he did with us during the War."

"Still. I mean, what did you say to him?"

"Well, I wrote him earlier and explained-"

Harry interrupted. "Hold on. You _owled_ him, about a matter like this?"

"I just needed him to send a note to the Ministry about it."

"Hermione, you're acting like you just needed a note because you'd be arriving late to your next class at Hogwarts. This topic does seem a bit... more sensitive..." his voice trailed off as it was his turn to shake a head in disbelief.

"I just explained the situation, and he was happy to do it. Though I'm not so sure what he'll be thinking tomorrow."

Harry was still shaking his head. "I'm just struggling to imagine this message. _Dear Professor Flitwick, You remember Harry Potter? I've been wanting to shag him for twenty years-"_

"Harry!" She tried to appear shocked, but she just gave up and laughed. "You know it wasn't like-"

"No, no, let me work out this letter." Harry continued in his exaggerated high-pitched imitation of her voice. " _Dear Professor Flitwick, You remember Harry? I've been wanting to shag him for twenty years, but dear old Snape kept getting in the way even from beyond the grave._ " She was now laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her cheeks. " _Anyhow, I think tonight's my night, Professor. Can you give me and Harry a note to the Ministry to let us finally shag properly? Oh, let me explain. You see, we've got this super-duper magical fuck-energy that hasn't been seen in 900 years. And last time we almost kissed, we nearly burned down the entire Forest of Dean. But I, clever witch that I am, have found a way to disperse this magical fuck-energy safely as a kid-friendly fireworks show. So can you just write to the Ministry and convince them there's going to be some bullshit astrological convergence tonight, so Harry and I can screw our brains out without a repeat of the London fire of 1666? Thanks ever so much. Your friend, Hermione._ "

She was doubled over in laughter. "Harry! I was obviously much more measured in my explanations. And when you put it like that, it all sounds so preposterous."

"Hermione, it _is_ preposterous. This whole bloody situation is preposterous."

"Wouldn't you have thought just about everything magical was as ridiculous before you came to Hogwarts?"

"That's not the point. Why couldn't we just have been together 20 years ago..." His voice turned abruptly wistful, his manner solemn.

They sat quietly for a while. "You know Snape did what he thought was best," she finally said. "For us. For the whole wizarding world. And you know I don't believe in fate, but there's part of me that can't help thinking of the coincidence - that a photo album from Dumbledore would ultimately set in motion the events that led to tonight. I can't believe any wizard, even Dumbledore, could see so far off, but we did find the path back to each other."

"It doesn't mean I can't be angry for what was taken from us. All those years."

"Come on, Harry. It wasn't all bad, right? We both have amazing kids. And even if things didn't work out with Ron and Ginny, they are both great parents too. We all did this together." She took his hand, entwining their fingers, as they had done thousands of times before. And in that inconsequential touch, she realized that despite Snape's best efforts, their connection had never actually ceased to grow. Only its expression had perhaps been altered, but she'd never regret so many years of having her best friend at her side, learning to love him more deeply with almost every passing day. And given Harry's softened expression now as he stared at their hands, Hermione was certain he felt it too.

She looked out again at the sky, still amazed. "Maybe this is just a unique show we're seeing tonight, twenty years of pent-up energy, finally released. Maybe it won't be like this next time..."

"Hermione, I want it to be like this _every time_." Harry was earnest, gazing at her.

She rolled her eyes. "You are incorrigible. I mean the fireworks. We can't have this sort of thing happening all the time..." She stopped short, suddenly aware of what she had implied.

"Is that a promise, Granger?"

Her eyes answered clearly, but she said nothing. In a moment, her gaze drifted back out as she continued, "What I mean is, we'd have to find some other way to disperse this energy if it's like this again. We can't keep London awake all hours of the night."

He started chuckling, then laughing outright. "What are you going to do with it, Hermione? Whatever we did has created enough spontaneous magical energy to generate the equivalent of many tons of TNT with this five-hour light show, still going strong I might add. I know you're the cleverest witch in the world, but unless you intend to design a thermonuclear weapon or a starship powered by libido-drive, I can't figure out what you're planning..."

Hermione was deep in thought, the corners of her mouth turned up as she mused.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. You are seriously trying to come up with a design to power a starship with this, aren't you?"

"Well, theoretically..."

"Are you _fucking_ serious? No, I mean that word literally. What exactly are you imagining here? I can just hear the voice coming over the intercom: _Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, please report to the engine room. We need another mind-blowing shag so we can reach Alpha Centauri by morning._ "

Giggles erupted and tears were running on her cheeks again as she had to admit the insane implication of her recent ruminations.

Harry finished his espresso and set down his cup, before turning to her. "Some days I cannot figure out _how_ you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw. You are _such_ a nerd."

"Well, to be honest, I asked the Sorting Hat to put me in Gryffindor," she hesitated, "partly because of _you_."

Harry started, a bit stunned at her revelation. "You never told me that." They sat in silence for a few moments. His face slowly brightened, as a large grin formed.

"Don't get any ideas, Potter. It wasn't like that. We were _kids_. I mean, you were a _little_ cute." She paused to smirk. "But from what I had read about you and from what I saw when we first met, I could tell that I wanted to do more than I could get from reading any book. You inspired that in me, Harry. Courage and bravery and... our friendship. I'd never wish for anything else. I think that's when the resonance must have started to develop between us, a harmonious fundamental compatibility..."

"I think it's my turn to roll my eyes," Harry muttered.

She bit her lip. "I deserve that. But it's real, Harry. For all to see. Look at it!" Hermione's breath caught as new colors burst into the clouds. A moment later, she felt his hand pulling her up from her seat. Harry gazed up at the heavens, and then down at her, his eyes dark emerald pools, meeting her chocolate brown orbs.

And they knew there was nothing left to say, no need to promise, no need to speak of her love, no need for him to confirm it. Like a million glittering stars, it was burning bright in the sky, a celestial sign no one, not even the two of them, could ever deny again.

 _Finis._


End file.
